Come Back (to me)
by volkova21
Summary: Eight years after the war was lost, Hermione has finally figured out how to go back in time and change the past, or has she? Waking up, she finds herself in a strange, new world. Will she accept the changes or fight to make her way back to where she came from?
1. Chapter 1

I know I should be working on my other stories, but... my muse has decided this is a much better idea. Anyways, I'm gonna try something different here. Updates may be a little more infrequent but, they'll hopefully be longer than my usual.

* * *

Hermione sat, hunched over her desk, the light scratching of her quill on parchment the only sound that could be heard. Her fingers, stained black with ink, curled tightly around the feather, casting a long shadow against the dark brown of the wood. Her figure was small, scrunched up as though hiding, a habit that hadn't faded. She had disappeared from society years ago.

Her thoughts trailed to that night, the night the war ended, when all hope was lost.

_The rain beat down on the cloaked figures, the heavy stones of Hogwarts laid in ruin around them. Voldemort had arrived, breaking through the wards, their sanctuary was no longer. A hooded figure in black robes stood next to him, his new "second in command" Hermione guessed. _

_They fought, splashes of light shooting across the sky as the heavens cried, a loud crack echoed across the courtyard, and she screamed as Harry fell. The life drained from his eyes, wand falling limply from his hand. Time stopped. The hooded figure standing over his lifeless corpse. He pulled his hood back as he knelt to inspect the body. A shock of red hair was revealed. He took the wand and stood, walking back towards Voldemort, he handed the piece of wood over._

_She froze. Hands wrapped around her, pulling her inside. They were on the retreat, their leader had left them, and Ron had abandoned the cause. It was just her now._

_A gentle voice whispered in her ear, "Come, ma belle, zis is not yet over."_

_Tears stung her eyes, she hadn't even realized she was crying, she nodded and with a crack the two apparated away._

Years had passed since that night and while there was still a resistance, most of the members of the Order had been caught or killed since then. It was almost 8 years later now. It was just her and Fleur now, but they hadn't given up.

She was close, she knew it, they'd worked so hard. After all the time turners were destroyed, they had had to study hard to make their own. And finally, she thought she was almost there. Only one of them would be able to go back though, someone needed to stay behind to protect the runes, if the link was destroyed she'd never be able to return.

Quiet footsteps broke the monotonous scratching of her quill causing Hermione to look up, her back cracking loudly as she sat up, having spent too much time hunched over the desk. Fingertips lightly traced across her back, she leaned into the touch.

"How long have you been working, ma belle?" The lightly accented voice of the French witch questioned.

"What time is it?" the rough, gravelly voice of Hermione responded before she cleared her throat, dry from disuse.

"A little after three AM."

Hermione's hands covered her face, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, "that late already?"

A soft hum was her response.

"Alright, I'm coming to be bed," A long, delicate hand helped her to stand, their fingers intertwining, a natural fit between them. The blonde gently led her towards their bedroom, a smile on her face.

She pulled the shorter woman into her arms, kissing her gently, eliciting a soft moan, "Fleur," she breathed.

"Shhh," came the response as she captured her lips once again as they fell into bed together.

The curly haired brunette awoke with a start, a light sheen of sweat coating her pale skin. She was breathing hard, adrenaline coursing through her veins, the death grip of fear constricting her heart. The warm body next to her slowly moving, curling up around her, pulling her back into a comforting embrace, the familiar routine calming her. "It is alright, my love, you're safe here," whispered through the darkness, sleep crawling through causing a slur to the words.

She nodded, closing her eyes, willing the images to leave her be, bodies laid bare around her, broken bones, unnatural positions, the rosy tint of blood filled skin missing, leaving a ghostly pallor behind. Eyes open, looking up at her, unseeing, asking her "why?". She carried the guilt of their deaths, she had for so long, and with sleep just out of reach, she once again returned to her studies.

It was now only a little after 7. Four hours, that was it, not nearly enough to live off of, she would go mad sooner than later. But it spurred her into a feverish drive, pushing further, unable to stop, she had to fix things, she had to change the past, she'd pinpointed the moment, the spot where everything had changed.

Memories flashed across her eyelids, swirling, dancing inside her brain, mixing with regret. Regret of having been caught, she'd been weak, too weak, having abandoned them too soon, but she'd thought then, that she couldn't continue on, she needed to recover, her body broken and destroyed. She'd sent the boys on without her, promising to catch up with them when she could.

She hadn't returned soon enough, she'd been too distracted, the peace of Shell Cottage soothing on her battered soul, a salve she hadn't known she needed. She'd managed to heal and formed a friendship with the blonde witch that soon developed into more. She'd become distracted from her goals and put too much of a burden on her friends. She failed them when they needed her the most.

Her plan was to return to that moment, to change the course of the war. She loved Fleur, of that there was no doubt, but she was already used to sacrifice, and if it took that to save countless lives, she would. Besides, she reasoned, she could still pursue a relationship with the blonde enchantress, just.. after the war was over. They could still make it work couldn't they? And in a happier world, where they didn't have to hide, where they were safe and could have a family together.

Thoughts of her failures plagued her sleepless mind, swirling around, laughing their high pitched cackle, taunting her, spurring her into action. She took one last, long gaze of the sleeping form next to her, calm, serene, relaxed and unaware of the torment next to her. A sad smile crossed her features as she threw back the covers and slid out of bed, padding back to the study, clad only in shorts and a tank top. The summer air thick and heavy around her, choking her as guilt continued to dance through her mind, just out of reach but near enough to taint her mood.

She paused, her hand resting on the cool bronze of the door, a deep breath before she readied herself, pushing through, committing to her plan. She ignored the tears shaking at the corners of her chestnut eyes, threatening to spill, full of words and emotions unsaid. Hermione didn't want to leave, didn't want to go back there, but it was the only way. And if she was successful, Fleur would never know she'd even left.

Her voice was shaky, trembling with the weight of it all, the power behind the words, the meaning they held for her, as she began to chant, barely above a whisper, a scream against the stillness. Drawing chalk runes, she had long ago memorized their order, nails upon a chalkboard, candle wax teetering on the edge, dripping and running, falling down, like the tears she would not let fall so desperately wanted. Finally, the last part, sands of time, worn down, mixed with new blood. A prick at her finger, a tear escaped, reaching for freedom, trailing, leading the path for many more, and a flash.

She was gone, a 'pop' filling the room, remnants of her work now charred.

* * *

Hermione awoke, a pale light filtering in through the curtains, the sound of birds chirping, and of something else... she was unsure for a moment, then she realized, it was the sound of a baby crying, its screams diluted through the walls, but most definitely wanting something. Why was there a baby? Hermione couldn't remember there being any baby, and... her fingers gripped the plush material beneath them, her mind drifting to her time in Shell Cottage as that was the only time they'd gotten to experience any comforts. Her mind was running a mile a minute, questions coming to light, trying to piece it together, but unwilling to leave the sanctuary of the bed.

A gruff voice, rough with sleep, sounded next to her, freezing her heart in fear. "'S your turn, 'Mione."

"W-what?" She stammered out, her eyes now wide open, adrenaline coursing through her veins, images of the last time she saw the owner of the voice flashing past, a silent movie all too real.

"Rose, I took care of her last time," his lumbering form rolled over with a yawn, pulling the covers up to shield out the light, and maybe muffle the sound a little more. It must have worked, light snores followed soon after, before Hermione had even had a chance to get out of bed. He didn't seem hostile, she mused, quite different from the Battle of Hogwarts really.

She slowly got up, trying not to wake the sleeping oaf again, unsure of how to handle him. She'd expected to be dropped back in the middle of the woods, and while she had to admit, her clothing was much better suited for this location than the wilderness, she would much rather fight off a starving bear in her underwear than wake up in bed next to Ron, who was a much different sort of starving bear.

The crying got louder as she got closer, still padding silently down the hall, unsure of which room she needed to enter. She listened intently, but the cries just echoed, bouncing off the walls as they went. She took in her surroundings, opening each door she passed, she'd found two linen closets, a bathroom, and the laundry room so far. There were only a couple doors left, she prayed one of them was the one she was seeking, the cream colored walls tinged yellow with the sunrise, mismatched horribly with the blue shag (seriously, blue shag?!) carpeting beneath her toes.

Cursing under her breath, she vowed if she was stuck here for long she'd rip up that carpet, even if it killed her. She much more preferred hardwoods, they could be easily cleaned and be visibly clean and a nice rug could do wonders. But that wasn't nearly as bad as the framed pictures lining the halls. Who had even taken them? Did they know how to use a camera- her musings stopped as her world fell out from beneath her, breath catching, tears prickling once again.

She raised a hand slowly towards a picture in front of her, fingertips brushing the frame made of small seashells. She never thought a picture could break her heart as completely as this one just had. In it, a smiling Fleur wrapped up in the arms of a stoic Bill Weasley, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder, looking calm as ever. His hands rested lightly on an unmistakable baby bump. Fleur turning to look back at him, looking positively radiant before turning to look back at the camera.

Tears that had been fighting to spill since she left came crashing over the edge. The sobs of Rose forgotten, her knees buckled beneath the weight of it all, Hermione collapsed, a soft thud unheard over the baby behind the wall.

Hermione couldn't tell how long she'd stayed there, like that, frozen beneath the picture of what should never have come to pass, head in her hands, tears cascading down her face, all the emotion she'd bottled up over the years wrenching free all at once. Soon though, her sobs were the only sounds, breaking the stillness of the early morning. She had tried to keep them quiet but heavy footfalls from behind her signaled her failure.

"Mione? What's wrong? Is Rose alright?" The gruff voice from earlier still rough from sleep but with concern mixing in. There wasn't any trace of anger. It was wrong, it was all wrong. They grew louder, somehow going unmuted by the long tendrils of the shag carpet she despised.

Strong arms wrapped around her slender frame, frail and withered from years of malnutrition, a skeleton of who she once was. She was powerless to fight the pull, wilting into his body, sobbing into his chest as he tried to comfort her, comfort her in a way no one but Fleur could.

"Shhh, shhhh" he whispered, "It's okay, I've got you." His oversized hands rubbed at her back, jarring her, bringing forth a new wave of tears. His chest hard against her cheek, so different, so unlike what she was used to. His breath heavy against her skin, pulling her down, suffocating her in this strange world.

Eventually, exhausted from her tears, she fell back into a fitful sleep, firm arms stretching around her, swallowing her whole, carrying her back to bed and gently depositing her on the plush material. She clutched at the fabrics, her brow furrowing in her sleep, curled up on herself, unaware of the look of concern crossing the face of the redhead she'd chosen to share this life with.

He tenderly brushed a long brown curl from her face, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, before making his way out, back down the hall to check on their daughter before departing for work. It had been years since he'd last seen her like this, worried thoughts plaguing his mind as he tried to figure out the reason for her relapse.

Ron didn't know the terrors she'd faced, trapped inside Malfoy Manor, tortured by Bellatrix, she never spoke of all she endured. Her scars, unhealed and on display, were not just physical.

He paused for a moment, his hand resting on the tarnished brass of the doorknob to his Ministry office. Mind searching frantically, repeating the date over and over in his head, 10 June. 10 June. 10 June. He shook his head, shocks of orange falling in his eyes as pushed open the door to his office. Nothing came to mind. At least, nothing he thought was important enough to cause this much of a reaction from her. Maybe, he thought to himself, it was just that post whatever depression the healers had spoke of. Their daughter had been born less than a month ago after all.

Though, he thought she'd been doing fine, no real changes, but he wasn't a healer and accepted that that's probably what it was, pushing the incident to the back of his mind.

Ron sat down at his desk and propped his feet up, leaning back as far as he could in the chair without tipping it over. Dirt from the soles of his shoes flaking off, leaving specks of imperfection across the stack of parchment resting on his desk. He'd get to it later, for now though, he was going to read the paper.

* * *

Sometime later, Hermione awoke with a start, her mind racing, adrenaline coursing, she tried to catch her breath as she reached for her wand on the oak bedside table. Despite her grogginess, she knew her surroundings were unfamiliar and for a moment she wondered where she was before the events came flooding back to her. She remembered what caused her breakdown, seeing a photo of Fleur, happy with Bill. She couldn't hate the man, they'd always gotten on rather well, but she felt an uncontrollable rage towards him, seeing him with her love. A feeling of betrayal slicing through her chest, taking refuge in her heart. She shook her head, clearing the feeling. She couldn't hold it against him, he didn't know, and if this morning had taught her anything, it was that she was not with Fleur here.

Now, for the more pressing concern, she realized, her eyebrows furrowing, where exactly is "here"? She got up, the mattress sagging under her weight, a creak from the old frame breaking the silence. Her bare feet once again met with the worn blue shag carpet, she looked around, the room lit with the bright sunlight of late afternoon. A door to her left, she guessed it would be the closet, and after opening it, found she was correct.

She flicked through the wardrobe, eagerly searching for something to wear, the robes hanging within it being decidedly different from her own tastes. She wondered how she had turned out so differently, how this world came to pass. She didn't even know if Voldemort had been defeated, though, if she had a daughter, she presumed he would have been. Unless, her mind froze there, unwilling to finish that thought. She swallowed thickly, and forced the thought from her mind. No. There's no way. She sighed and selected the least atrocious robe, which unfortunately reminded her a little too much of Ron's dress robes from the Yule Ball.

It engulfed her petite figure entirely. Extra fabric hung lifelessly off her body, an unnecessary bulge at the belly. Pregnancy robes. That explains the unfashionable mess of fabrics contained within her closet. Another sigh before she reached for her wand, it should be a quick spell to fix these and look presentable. With a flick of her wrist, the hideous garment was changed to a nice black, slim fitting and while not the best looking, certainly was better than previously.

Homemaking spells had never been her forte, but she would certainly have to work on them if she would be here long. Here. She paused. Where was here, her mind once again questioned. It was time to find out. She left the room, walking down the hallway, a repeat of her trip before. She looked away, down, focusing on the carpeting rather than the images displayed on the walls, unsure of if she could handle seeing Fleur with another.

Finally, she came to the door she had reached earlier, the one she had collapsed in front of. She paused, bracing herself for what she would see on the other side. Steeling her nerves, she pushed through, opening the door with too much force, it swung open and crashed against the wall, bouncing back towards her. The room was not what she had expected, though she wasn't sure _what_ she had really expected to be there.

The walls were a pale pink, a mural on one of the walls, a forest with a unicorn in front of it, stars glittering on the night sky. A tiny mobile hanging from the ceiling, fantastic creatures hanging from it, harmless. Centered in the room was a white crib, a tiny newborn within it, a shock of bright orange hair already present.

Her heart stopped, melting as she took in the sight of the tiny baby, her daughter, a voice chimed in. She glided to the crib, looking down in to dark blue eyes, so different from the blue she was used to looking into. Like a stormy ocean rather than the summer sky, she'd often wondered, if she and Fleur had had kids, what they would look like, and her heart broke, knowing that wouldn't happen here.

Tears ran down her cheeks, though she couldn't tell if they were happy or sad, her emotions spiraling within her, she reached out, her hands shaking as she gently took her daughter in her arms, pulling her to her chest, one hand cradling the baby's head against her shoulder.

She choked out a sob, mourning all she had given up, rejoicing all she had gained. Determined to find out what had happened. She turned and exited the room.

* * *

Hermione found herself at the library. Her daughter nestled into a stroller, snoozing lightly. Libraries, Hermione knew, would not fail her. They had helped her so many times in the past and would help her now. She chewed on the end of her quill as her eyes scanned the pages of the book in front of her. There wasn't much information out there. History books were meant to contain older history, not the more recent events. And after some searching, she'd managed to find a couple of books, embarrassment flooding over her as she realized that, being part of the Golden Trio, she'd most likely find the answers she needed in a book about herself.

And that was how she currently was, sitting at a table in the library, reading a book about herself, of course in the back, away from everyone else, hoping to avoid their curious stares.

The passage in front of her had caused a chuckle to escape from her lips as it recounted events from their Fourth Year. These events were unfamiliar to her, and obviously was based on misinformation written by that dreadful Skeeter woman.

_The Triwizard Tournament, spanning the 1994 school year, brought a new level of attention to Harry and his friends. Being the youngest champion, the Boy Who Lived often became the subject of many articles in the _Daily Prophet. _Most notably, featuring his supposed romance with fellow student Hermione Granger. It was in the Third Task that fellow Champion Cedric Diggory was murdered, becoming the first victim in You-Know-Who's second rise to power._

Hermione thought back to her version of Fourth Year, pulling out a piece of parchment to begin messily scribbling her notes. There wasn't much information in this book, but it was a start. She scratched out a line down the middle, writing _Similarities _and _Differences_ atop the two columns.

_Harry was champion_ was quickly put under the similarities column while _Cedric was murdered_ was put under the differences. After a pause, she quickly added _Rumors of relationship_ to the differences column. In her timeline, or universe as she'd started thinking it, there had never been rumors of a relationship between them, and why would there be? He'd been happily dating Cho Chang at the time.

She kept reading, thumbing her way through the pages, finding the book didn't contain much useful information. She looked back at her notes, finding they were lacking in thoroughness, she frowned. A pause and a huff later, crumpling up the piece of parchment in anger, ready to throw it away, an idea came to her. She could read the papers, surely they would fill her in. It may not be the most accurate as Skeeter appeared no more truthful in this world, but it would answer what the public had thought.

And she stood, her back cracking angrily as it was forced to straighten after so many hours bent over, and she walked off to find the newspapers. Returning a moment later to collect Rose in her stroller, chastising herself for walking off without her daughter, her _daughter_, a sad smile crossed her features as she looked down at the sleeping bundle.

Moments later, she found the thick tome she was looking for, holding all copies of the _Daily Prophet_ for the 1994 year. A brief thought crossing her mind that she should start before that, but she would get to that later, the biggest changes would obviously be more recent. An image of Ron formed in her mind, remembering the shock she had felt at waking next to his large form.

The library began to empty out, and soon Hermione found herself to be all alone in the large building, aside from the older witch who had sat at the front desk. Her stomach grumbled loudly and it was then that she realized, she hadn't eaten all day. It was then that fatigue began to catch up to her, her body demanding sustenance, she quietly returned the large tome to its rightful place before leaving to go to the home that wasn't hers.

Her mind drifted to the thought of never spending time with Fleur again, sadness edging its way in once again. Happy memories of a time past, a life that would never be, despite the sadness surrounding them, the constant threat of being found, always moving, never staying long, they were happy together.

She returned home, pushing the stroller through the front door, she was startled when she looked up to see Ron sitting on the couch, gesturing wildly as he carried on about the last quidditch match. Bill, sitting next to him, looked enraptured by Ron's antics.

Hermione looked around, hoping to see Fleur, but not finding the blonde enchantress anywhere. She forced a smile, hoping to hide her disappointment. Ron continued on with his story as she stepped into the room, "So there she was, the rain was coming down thick, I'd never seen it so bad, and that damn beater had just sent a bludger straight for Ginny..."

Hermione tuned him out, uninterested in the sport, she continued on down the hall, back towards the nursery. Rose, now held firmly in her arms, had momentarily woken up when her position changed, and was clinging to her mother's body. Hermione held on equally tight, unwilling to break the connection she had with the newborn, the only one equally as lost in this world as she was. The baby, though unable to understand her, had become her confidant, not judging her as she knew others would, she felt no danger as she whispered her thoughts, needing to voice them to release the tension they brought.

She shifted her hold on the baby slightly as she reached out to open the door, the white painted wood creaking slightly on its hinges. Her eyes momentarily left the face of her daughter as she looked up, observing the room and finding it occupied.

There on the floor sat two miniature versions of Fleur, both young, though older than her own daughter. They were playing with dolls, an elaborate dollhouse next to them, toys strewn about around them, discarded carelessly where their owner lost interest.

Pulling her eyes away from the sight in front of her, she looked up, her heart melting as she saw her Fleur, _not her Fleur_ she mentally chastised herself, a third baby on her lap, a bottle in its tiny grasp. Fleur looked down, intent on her youngest child, unaware that she was no longer alone with her children. Hermione could feel her heart melting at the sight, something that had always been a dream, just out of reach. It, however, took all her self control to not rush forward and engulf her love, to sweep her up into her arms and drown her in kisses, to leave them panting and fumbling, stumbling to the bedroom as they had so many times.

Her daughter's crib had been moved off to the side to make room for the other two girls to play, now located against the window, Hermione stepped towards it, the sounds of her shuffling drawing Fleur's attention.

"Oh 'Ermione, I 'ope you do not mind, I made some room for ze girls to play," Fleur offered her an apologetic smile.

Hermione's breath caught, hearing her voice, it wasn't a dream. Her body froze, unable to move, overwhelmed in the moment.

"'Ermione, are you alright? You look as zough you 'ave seen a ghost." The blonde queried, a playful smile upon her lips, the sunlight from the window turning her silvery blonde hair a pale golden, a halo forming above head.

It was too late, out before she could stop herself, a flirty "How about an angel?" escaping. A voice that wasn't hers, but a voice that sounded just like her all the same. She had always loved the teasing nature of Fleur, had often teased her back after she learned that the cold exterior the blonde presented was just an act.

She wasn't prepared, however, for Fleur's reaction. The smile fell from her face immediately, turning cold as the blonde retreated in on herself. It felt like the temperature dropped. And the world froze once again.

* * *

AN: I've been playing around with alternating chapters between worlds or just focusing on this Hermione. If you guys would like to see it, I'll alternate and the next chapter will be the "other" Hermione- the one from the world we know. But if you guys don't want to see that, I can stick to AU Hermione in our world.


	2. Chapter 2

Alright, it's happening, odd chapters will be Hermione in "book world" as I'm calling it, and evens will be Hermione in the AU (idk, havent gotten a good name for that yet). I can't resist putting "straight" Hermione in some awkward positions just like I'm doing to "straight" Fleur.

* * *

Hermione woke, warmth surrounding her body, she'd felt cold for so long, having gotten used to the changes that came with her pregnancy, that when the baby weight was gone, its warmth was gone too. She wrapped the blankets tighter around her skin, snuggling deeper into the soft cotton of the sheets, her mind not yet registering that they weren't the same worn and slightly scratchy feeling wool she had fallen asleep with.

Nor did she realize that the body slumbering soundly next to her, an arm wrapped loosely around her waist, was not the heavy, bulky form of her husband. Her mind enjoying the silence, for once, not permeated by the loud screams of her daughter- always the early riser- or the echoing snores of Ron.

She simply felt peace, and months of unrest and sleepless nights had taken their toll. As she sank back into the throes of sleep, she felt soft skin, warm and gentle, press against her back, pulling her closer, a tender grip, urging but not forcing. A voice whispering in her mind, telling her it was just a dream, her imagination, she hadn't fully woken up, she dared not open her eyes, unwilling to ruin the moment.

It wasn't until she was awoken later, soft lips pressed against her temple, that she realized this wasn't a dream. Brown eyes fluttered open, locking with bright blue behind pale lashes that she realized something was terribly wrong. Fleur, however, was unaware and upon seeing her lover was awake, she leaned down, placing tender lips against Hermione's, a morning ritual for them. But this time, something was very, very wrong. Instead of her love melting into the kiss as she often did, she felt her stiffen, body becoming rigid under her, a stillness she did not expect.

She pulled back as Hermione moved, placing her hands on Fleur's shoulders, pushing her back, away from her, putting space between them. Fleur could feel her heart breaking as she observed the cold, distant look rather than the happy, mirthful, joy she was usually greeted with.

Her brow furrowed, concern clouding her normally bright, blue eyes. "What is ze matter, 'Ermione?" Her eyes searched caramel brown ones, looking for an answer that she could not find, "'Ave I done somezing wrong?"

The normally articulate witch, stunned with what had transpired, was at a loss for words, the only thing that managed to escape her lips, "We're both married, Fleur."

The blonde was even more confused, nodding slowly, "Yes? I do not see ze problem."

Hermione unsure as to how the rather intelligent woman did not realize such an obvious issue, repeated her earlier statement, her tone flat, "We're married women, and you kissed me."

"Oui, much as I have done every morning. Do you not like it?" The pensive woman sat back on her heels, toes digging into the mattress, worry evident in her voice as it had shrunk, taking up a much smaller space than the woman was physically able to. It was now barely above a whisper when she added the question, fearing her heart would break when she heard the response. She had not dared to think a day such as this would come to pass, but it had crouched down, snuck up on her like a tiger hunting its prey, she was firmly within its grasp now, about to be devoured by the starving beast. A tear welled up and she pulled it back, unwilling to show weakness in this moment.

Hermione paused, this question unexpected, _every morning?_ Her eyes searched the other woman, looking for any trace of dishonesty upon her features. _Every morning_ it ran through her mind again. But that, wouldn't that, were they? Incomplete thoughts passed through her mind, she couldn't even imagine, no, there was no way, this had to be a joke...Right? But, Fleur didn't look like it was one, either that or she was a much better actress than Hermione thought.

She looked around the room, taking in her surroundings, the walls were covered in a dark red paint, a dark walnut trim surrounding the doorways, a classic feel of old money permeated the decorations, elegant and refined, simple wood everything. A stark contrast to the room she had fallen asleep in last night.

Her voice shook, she had hoped to hide it, her panic rising in her chest, she wanted to close in on herself, to will herself away from this situation, but the look of pain was clear upon the blonde's face. She reached an unsteady hand out, resting it gently over the other woman's, "Fleur, are-are we?"

She didn't finish that sentence, a choked sob escaping Fleur's lips, she nodded. "Married." The word was barely a whisper, faint between the two women, neither sure who said it.

Fleur pulled her hand away, the pain of her touch scalding on the wounds so recently inflicted. She left, running away, retreating from the heartbreak, leaving Hermione there, sitting upon the mattress, their shared bed. Hermione heard a door slam, she assumed the front, wondering where Fleur was headed. She sat there, in silence, her mind replaying what had happened, filling her thoughts until a gaping hole in her chest began to form.

The sunlight was casting short shadows through the window by the time she finally got up, her wand firmly in her hand as she explored her way around the house, unsure what (or who) may be there. She opened a solid oak door, mismatched from the rest of the house, drawing her towards it, spelled shut, heavy protections against it, unlike the rest of the house. It took her only a moment before she was able to remove them all, the door swinging open to reveal a study.

Books lined the walls, thick, ancient tomes, the brunette could only wonder at the information they may contain. A desk in the corner, barely illuminated by the light of an oil lamp, burning faintly, parchment strewn messily across its surface, held her attention only for a moment before her eyes drifted to the runes drawn on the floor.

Their meaning unfamiliar to her, she paused, studying them, wondering if they held the key to what was happening. She glided quietly around the circle, never taking her eyes off them until she reached the desk. Her fingers lightly tracing the words written there. It was her handwriting, the messy scrawl that it was, was unmistakable, but she didn't remember writing any of these notes.

She picked up a sheet, sliding the quill off it, reading them closely, a soft gasp escaping her lips as she realized what it was. Notes for recreating a time turner. But, if she'd made one, how did she end up here? When she'd used them in her Third Year, she had never experienced anything like this. Was she in the future then? Is that how she was married to Fleur?

She thought quickly back to her own time, she was happy with Ron and with Rose, and Fleur... she was happily married to Bill, they'd just had their third child. She didn't appear to be much older, but that could have been the Veela magic, though she would think... if it was too far in the future, wouldn't Fleur notice that she was much younger? Unless, was it only a few months? But then, she couldn't imagine what had happened to cause two marriages to fail, not when both couples were currently happy. She wasn't exactly repulsed by the thought of being with Fleur, but she couldn't imagine how that had happened, never having been attracted to another woman, let alone her sister-in-law.

Her stomach grumbled loudly, reminding her she hadn't yet had breakfast. She looked back at the desk, pausing for a moment before gathering all the parchment she found, collecting it and taking it with her. She made her way to the kitchen, hearing sounds coming from it as she got closer, she once again removed her wand from its holster on her arm.

A sigh of relief escaped past her lips as she saw it was Fleur, rummaging around in the cabinets, her attention focused on cooking. Nervously, she entered the room, crossing her arms, the parchment ruffled. Her silence broken, the blonde turned around, observing the newcomer, her eyes cold and distant.

"Fleur-" tiny, distant, barely more than a whisper, hurt reflecting in her eyes at the blonde's dismissal of her. She turned back to the gas stove in front of her, focused on making lunch rather than smalltalk. The veela in her bracing, unsure if she could take any more hurt.

Hermione tried again, weakness betraying her voice, cracking and shaking, "Fleur, I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

Anger, red clouded her eyes, her hand angrily dropping the pan in her hand, "Didn't mean to what?" Her tone was sharp, abrasive, cutting through the courage that Hermione had gathered.

The brunette sunk, wishing she could disappear, sharp eyes looked at her, features cold, but her voice betrayed her, what she really felt. Her back against the wall, Hermione confessed, "I didn't mean to hurt you, I didn't know. I would never hurt you on purpose."

"Va te faire foutre," she spat, angrily, slipping back into her native tongue, "You didn't know it would hurt me? We've been together for eight years now! How could you think it wouldn't hurt me?!" She was practically screaming.

The stunned brunette could only stutter a response, her mind frozen, focused on "Eight years?"

The blonde sensed something was off, her anger momentarily subsiding, noting the papers in Hermione's hand. "What is zat?" Her hand pointed towards the stack of parchment that had been forgotten about.

The quick change in her demeanor throwing Hermione off, she paused, looking down, following the line, she cleared her throat, and yet, still above a whisper, "I- uh- I found these, notes, uh, for a time turner, I think."

Fleur paused, her eyes narrowing, the lunch she was cooking about long forgotten, she studied the woman in front of her, noting the slight differences, her hair was shorter, she was tanner- just slightly though, looking as though she hadn't been hidden away in a windowless room for years, the bags under her eyes, still present but not as set, as though the sleepless nights hadn't eaten away at her for years. Her hips, they were wider, and she still displayed the signs of a recent pregnancy, a small bump in her belly.

The food in the pan behind her caught fire, burning, leaving nothing but charred remains behind, Fleur jumped to put out the fire, turning off the stove and dumping the ruined pan in the sink, cold water sizzling as it made contact with the hot metal.

She turned back, adrenaline still coursing, regaining her focus on the other woman, curiosity sparkling in her eyes, "You aren't my 'Ermione are you?"

Fleur was already sure of the answer. Too many changes that had gone unnoticed before now sticking out, unable to take her eyes off the other woman, so similar, so different. She gestured to the table before them, motioning for Hermione to sit down. She took her own seat opposite her, the anger and the hurt replaced with wonder and wanting. It took all she had not to scooch closer to the other, not to take her hand in her own, to whisper sweet nothings as they had done so many times before.

The Veela feeling that same draw, that same want- need- to take what was hers, to once again conquer, to possess, to share the depths of her love with another, with her beloved. She was being forced to hide her emotions, something she hadn't done in years.

Her question had gone unanswered, both of them knew, it needed no answer, no confirmation. She looked at the younger woman, a silent pleading in her eyes, urging, _talk to me,_ instead "Would you like some tea?" Soft, tender, a loving caress in the quiet of the room, without waiting for an answer, Fleur flicked her wand, setting the kettle on to boil. Nervous energy filled the room, Hermione shuffling through the notes, unsure of where to start, how to say it. Fleur, watching her, waiting, awkwardly playing with her hands, her left leg bouncing rapidly, a soft tapping on the tile floor, a throwback to their first date.

No, it wasn't a date, it was more like the morning after, when so much had happened but felt so small compared to the weight of it all. A pebble compared to the boulder, but the final one to either break them, crush them so completely under the pressure or rebuild them as something stronger. The shy looks, pauses, emotions going unspoken, not wanting to face the reality of their actions, retreating back to their dreams.

The kettle began to whistle, signaling it was done, at the same time Hermione began to speak. Fleur waved her wand, a tiny movement, barely perceptible, but still enough. The kettle filled two mugs that then levitated their way over.

Fleur picked up one of the mugs, lifting it to her face, she blew on it gently, the steam blurring her vision of Hermione, but never did she take her eyes off the other woman, an intense gaze, bright blue eyes meeting caramel.

It was disconcerting to the younger woman, unfamiliar with such attentions, especially coming from another woman.

"I don't know what happened, but, I guess, uhm... I mean, if I had to guess, a spell went wrong. But, that doesn't tell me how I ended up here. And I know you can't tell me much, rules of time travel and all, but could you tell me when I am?"

A nod, a clink of china on marble as the glass was placed down, Fleur crossed her fingers, leaning forward, arms on the table, a cool sensation running across her skin. "You are in 2006, June 10 to be exact."

"No, that can't be. There's no way that's correct."

"And why can't it be?"

"Because..." there was a pause, her eyes meeting Fleur's momentarily, a blush on her cheeks, so unused to the attentions of the beauty before her, she looked away quickly, missing the smirk that spread across delicate features, "that's the same time as mine."

"Hmm? Zen I suppose zat is ze problem, non?"

"But, how? What happened? I'm supposed to be married to Ron, I have a daughter!" Her hands were waving about wildly now, "God, you have three kids! This" she gestured between the two of them, "should never have happened."

Fleur's face was set, cold and hard like stone, her voice calm, distant, she was fighting to keep it even, "You are married to Ron? How could you marry zat _traitor_?" She practically spat the last word, the disgust was palpable.

"Traitor? What? What do you mean by that?" Hermione had recoiled, withdrawn from the proximity of her companion, unsure of what had passed but now doubting her "other" self's judgment if she would end up with Fleur, the ice queen over Ron, her best friend.

"He killed Harry," it was a whisper, the words choked up, catching on their escape, unwilling to be spoken aloud.

Hermione felt her world stop, the words sinking in, unsure if she heard them correctly, suddenly doubting her grasp of the English language. A moment passed, turning into two, then three. This couldn't be real, there was no way, no. He couldn't have, he would never.

"No, there's no way, you're wrong." Her vision clouded, the realization hitting her that Harry was dead.

A tentative hand reached out, lightly touching hers, a tap, and then a weight, settling, a soft voice, "I'm sorry." There was no anger in her eyes anymore, only sadness.

"What," her voice caught, scratching in her throat, "what happened?" it was soft, quiet, withdrawn and so unlike the woman Fleur had come to know.

She paused, in thought for a moment, her gaze cast downward, studying the marble tabletop between them, her reflection distorted, looking back at her.

"I zink zat I should start from ze beginning, hmm?" She didn't wait for a response, continuing on, "I am not sure ze differences in our lives, I zink ze changes will have happened when our relationship began."

* * *

_Fleur was lazing about, laying on the couch, her right leg propped up, left ankle resting on her knee, a book in her hands. Reading as she did every day, the gentle sounds of the ocean waves crashing against the shore the only noise. It was calm, peaceful, so unlike the world outside, she had wanted to be a part of the action but had been stopped._

_She was told to wait, that she would be needed, that she would be useful, but her skills in healing magic were more useful to them than being a soldier, a fighter, she had a bigger purpose. And so she waited, her only company being Bill, her best friend. He had helped to keep her sane many times._

_He preferred to spend his time outside, he enjoyed seeking thrills, spending his time in the ocean. She had often teased him about having a death wish, but now, her desperation for seeing some action, something more lively, she could see the appeal._

_A crashing sound from the kitchen disturbed her quiet, shuffling, banging of doors, slamming of drawers. Whoever the intruder was, they were not quiet, she thought, padding her way towards the sound. She burst through the swinging door to the kitchen, her wand drawn, at the ready, curse upon her lips. She didn't expect to see Harry there, supporting a limp Hermione, head hanging to the side, bushy curls limp and lifeless. His arm was wrapped around her, he was trying to search the cabinets for something._

_Scars and cuts, scabbed over, dried blood covering much of her skin, dark, dirty, stained with ashes, her clothes torn and bloodied, fresh blood, it wasn't yet dry, draining from a wound on her arm. Fleur quickly replaced her wand, diving towards the two teens. Her hands on Hermione's temples, she lifted her head, finding the young witch to be unconscious._

_Another crash, this time behind her, she spun around, once again prepared for a fight. This time, she found Ron and Dobby, the youngest brother leaning against the table, gasping for breath, himself wounded severely as well. Fleur pulled her wand, casting the healing spells as quickly as she could, she was still unsure what was wrong with Hermione, but Ron appeared to be more severely injured._

_She turned, a plain looking box on a shelf behind her, she grabbed it, whispering a password before opening it. Inside were several vials filled with a variety of colored liquids, in all shapes and sizes. She poured them out unceremoniously tipping the container onto the kitchen table. She handed a green glowing one to Ron, "Drink up" she said, once again turning back to focus on Hermione._

_"I've got her," she said, her voice firm, as she wrapped her arms around the younger witch, hoisting her up into a bridal style hold. Harry let go, more than happy to be free of the weight he'd been supporting, himself worn from battle. His emotions coming back down, leaving him exhausted and sore. How could everything have gone so wrong? He sank down into a chair, his head falling into his hands._

_Fleur carried the war-torn brunette to her bedroom, gently depositing the woman on her bed. She pulled out her wand, a long thin piece of white wood, nimble in her fingers, carefully casting a couple more spells, diagnostic ones, trying to find what was wrong._

_Satisfied with the answer she received, she set to work, fetching the correct potions from the kitchen. Worry permeating her thoughts, she began to work, slowly, surely, unable to let her mind wander for fear she would make a mistake. Several potions and salves later, she sat back, the brunette was covered in various liquids, bandages covering the still oozing wound on her arm._

_Fleur had winced when she saw the actual shape of the wound when it was cleaned, 'mudblood' etched into the porcelain skin, marring the perfection that had once existed. A messy scrawl, jagged edges, pointed and sharp, dominating the space. Tears formed in her eyes, unable to bear the thought of being unable to heal it, her hand, holding a damp cloth rested upon the disfigurement. She looked away, trying to banish the invading thoughts, plaguing her mind. She removed her hand after a moment, dragging the damp cloth away, now streaked with blood._

_She wrapped it up in gauze and bandages, a thick green goo spread across the gauze, a family secret, created to help aid healing. Fleur had done all she could do, now time just needed to do its thing. The quarter Veela refused to leave Hermione's side, watching over her, waiting, hoping the young witch would wake soon._

_A quiet ticking breaking the silence, denoting the slow crawl of time. She sat there, watching, waiting, caring, determined to be there when she awoke. One day passed, turning into two, soon giving way to three, and still she did not cease her vigil, changing the bandages, cleaning wounds, administering healing potions._

_Bill had taken to caring for Fleur, her mind singularly focused on the sleeping brunette. He would bring her meals, supplies, updates on the others. And on the first night, upon seeing her sleeping, hunched over, her head laying next to Hermione's legs, propped up on her arms, golden tendrils splayed out around her, he brought her a blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders._

_Near the end of the third day, the sun already going down, sending shocks of oranges, red, and golds across the sky, stars peeking out from behind the clouds, when two chocolate eyes once again cast their gaze upon the world. Her body finally stirring, bringing tears of joy to the azure eyes of her caretaker. Fleur had not noticed at first, leaning back in her chair, feet propped up on the edge of the bed, a book resting on her legs, long delicate fingers thumbed the page lightly as they moved towards the corner, ready to flip it._

_Hermione watched her intently for a moment, her mind reeling at the sudden influx of light after having been in the dark so long, memories drug forth as the events played like a movie in her mind. But she was not where she thought she would be, the bed much softer than the rough stone and scratchy hay she'd slept on for the past... what day was it even? She didn't know how long she'd been there, or how long she'd been out._

_She moved slightly, her arm just a couple inches, it felt heavy, foreign and awkward, the minor adjustment caused a shift in the bed, alerting Fleur. The blonde's eyes snapped up from her book as she slammed it shut with just a little too much force, sliding it off her lap in her haste, it fell to the floor with a dull thud, falling back open, her feet hit the ground and she invaded the young brunette's space, "You're awake!" it was practically a shout, not able to control her volume in her excitement._

_Her hand cupping the brunette's face, a smile spread across her face, she looked for further signs of trauma before roughly pulling her into a tight hug, unwilling to let go, tentative arms wrapped around her, before a soft tapping, becoming more urgent, gaining force until she finally pulled away, "What iz wrong?" concern plaguing her face._

_"I couldn't breathe," the response came quietly, from an embarrassed Hermione. Fleur, not realizing she had caused it, panicked again, trying to find the cause, earning a bout of laughter from her patient. "No, no, no, you were hugging me too tight. I'm okay now," came out between chuckles, a hand coming up to cover her mouth._

_The blonde began to blush furiously, "I am sorry," she said, looking down, hiding her face as she made to sit back down._

_It was then that Hermione noticed all of the bandages on her arm. A forlorn look, her fingers ran lightly across the white cloth, remembering the wound that had been placed there. No words, nothing needed said, nothing could be said, the gravity of the situation too much, the emotion too heavy to communicate. Fleur placed a porcelain hand on top of Hermione's pressing it against the bandages, stopping its search of the wound, sad tears catching in the crinkles of her eyes, they stayed like that._

_"I am sorry for that too, I am unable to heal it." Quiet, a whisper, blending into the rumbling of the ocean, fading like the daylight, as small as she felt in that moment._

_She received no response, words failing at that moment, Hermione's hand turned in hers, gripping it gently, a soft squeeze, a tender moment, they stayed like that, hand in hand, supporting each other, unable to speak the correct words, unwilling to ruin the tentative relationship, scared that like a house of cards, it would come to an end._

_Day turned to night, but time stayed frozen for them, remaining as long as it could until their silence was broken, a growling sound, loud, filling the room, letting its presence be known, Fleur could not help the grin that grew upon her visage, a rose tint coloring Hermione's cheeks._

_"Are you hungry, little one?"_

_An ashamed nod came from Hermione, there was no hiding it, but she hadn't expected her body to tell her so _loudly_. Fleur released her hand and she instantly missed the warmth and comfort it provided, she clasped it in her other hand, bringing it to her chest as her savior stood from her chair, her back cracking as she turned, "I will bring you some food."_

_She continued to nurture the teenager back to health, listening to what she wanted to share, the sparse details she was given, clinging to them as though her life depended on it, determined to right all the wrongs she could, she refused to leave her side, a pout gracing her lips every time the brunette asked her to leave her with her friends. The trio discussing something in secret, hushed voices and whispers she couldn't make out. She knew they were planning, but what she did not know, dreading the day Hermione would leave her._

_A day came, finally, her heart stopped, Hermione approached her in the kitchen, she had been preparing lunch, sandwiches. She had wanted to prepare something more... worthy she settled on, but their supplies were low, having not been refilled for some time. She had wondered what had happened to their delivery, a young boy, she had not learned his name, rather plain in appearance and forgettable, a newer member of the Order. If he didn't arrive soon, she'd have to take it upon herself and travel to the small village down the road. She was nervous, her fingers playing nimbly with the edge of her - Fleur's- shirt. The light blue garment, a shade lighter than the blue of her Beauxbatons uniform, was oversized on Hermione's small frame, hanging loosely over her curves. A swell of pride erupted in Fleur's chest, glowing, warming her in new ways, she had not expected the reaction, but her inner Veela purred with contentment despite her panic, a war waging inside to determine the victor._

_Her voice was timid, betraying her feelings, "C-can we, uhm, can we go on a walk? Outside?" Her cheeks flared, bright red, furious and dominating, her head ducked down, eyes fixed on the floor, she shoved her hands in her pockets as her attention was drawn to her fidgeting._

_"Of course," she tried not to let the sadness show through her eyes, they were the windows to the soul after all. She set down her knife and brushed her hands off on her pants, a little mustard stain and a few bread crumbs were the least of her worries. She made her way to the door, holding it open for the brunette, both dragging their feet, taking their time, waiting for the inevitable._

_They walked to the beach in silence, both leading the way, neither leading the way, they walked, each looking to the other for guidance, they found the ocean, crashing against the rocks, battering them with its might, a testament to both their wills. A breeze rolling off the ocean, bringing with it the salty scents of seawater, sand and mud, blowing their hair about wildly. Hermione tucked a dark strand behind her ear, her hands returning to fidgeting, picking at her nails, dirt caked behind them still, her eyes shone, betraying a thousand emotions barely held in check._

_She tried to speak, words coming out choked, muted and silent, Fleur pulled her close, and she fell into the embrace, the dam finally breaking, her arms bent, unsure of where to go, where to rest, words of comfort, "It will all get better, you can be certain of zat."_

_"It's not that, I- I don't want to leave."_

_"Zen don't." She sounded sure, her voice firm, "You 'ave suffered enough. Ze boys will be fine on zeir own."_

_They stood there, silence between them, comfortable, a moment of peace in this long fight. Finally, a laugh, soft, unashamedly burst forth from Hermione's lips, "That's not how this was supposed to go. She continued to lean into Fleur, the blonde's arms wrapped loosely around her waist, resting gently on her hip, Hermione's head tucked into her shoulder, brown hair tickling her neck slightly. A position that should not have been as comforting for them both as it was, the sandwiches lying on the kitchen counter long forgotten._


	3. Chapter 3

Fleur looked down, away, avoiding Hermione's gaze, her attention immediately turned towards the baby in her lap. The two blonde girls playing on the floor oblivious to the scene transpiring just above them.

"No, you gots the daddy, he's gots to go to work!" The older of the two, a clone of her mother, said loudly, shoving the naked Ken doll in her sister's hand away.

"But I don't wanna!" louder yet, came the reply from the smaller, differing from her mother and sister only in that her hair was not as long. A red bow hung loosely, a weak attempt at a ponytail, her dress was ruffled, bunched at her knees.

"Girls! Quiet!" came a loud whisper, the stern voice of their mother dominating the space. The two looked ashamed, ducking their heads fiercely, resuming their argument quietly, as it turned to whose fault it was they had been yelled at.

Hermione could feel her heart breaking, three kids, her mate had three kids with someone else. Was Fleur even her mate here? She couldn't be sure, she had no way of knowing as she didn't feel the bond as strongly as Fleur had. It would, of course, grow stronger with time, but she had not felt it at first, or rather had not realized what it was, simply feeling comfortable in the presence of the other woman. A desire to be close, some sort of contact, or a sign of belonging.

Were there yet other differences here? Hermione returned her daughter to the crib, placing her down gently, a soft smile on her face, she could feel her heart swell at the image of Rose sleeping soundly, a tiny fist scrunched up by her face, turned as though it would block the light. She leaned in and kissed her softly on her forehead. A pause, a moment, she waited, committing the picture to memory, something she may never have if she returned, knowing that if she did, at best, her children would look like the two on the floor, almost perfect clones of their mother, the Veela blood still strong enough in them. If they had a son, he could have some of her traits, but not a daughter, they would, without fail, carry their mother's genes.

She turned, slowly making her way to the door, avoiding Fleur's cold gaze. What had happened between them? Why was she so distant? Her heart ached, longing for what she had lost, her own Fleur, probably left alone, wondering where she went. A tear threatened to fall, she choked back a sob. No, she wouldn't show weakness now, not in front of her, not because of her.

The cool metal grounded her, pulling her back to the present, she wrapped long, nimble fingers around it, squeezing it tighter, forcing her emotions out, the inanimate object would suffer for her. She turned it, and stepped back out into the hallway, Ron's voice echoing down the hall, still talking about quidditch.

She made her way to the kitchen, padding along silently, her shoes ruffling the ungodly shag as she went. She walked along, unnoticed by the others, to engrossed in their own lives, the silent suffering of the young witch hidden. This was still not her world, she was just passing through, an interloper in their lives. She fingered the cool brass of the kitchen cabinets, pulling each one open, searching, there had to be a stash of potions somewhere, each cabinet she slowly closed, trying to soften the crash of wood as much as possible.

So focused on her actions, she didn't notice that she was no longer alone, a quiet voice speaking, soft and dangerous, firm and unwavering. "Who are you?"

Hermione froze, fingers still wrapped around the curved brass of the cabinet handle. She was caught, her mind racing, she tried to formulate a plan, she turned slowly, eyes downturned, not daring to meet the angry face of Fleur. She put her hands up in surrender, a white wand pointed straight towards her. She couldn't fight back, not against her mate.. _not her mate_ her mind corrected, still, she couldn't, not without making a sound, causing a commotion, alerting the others, she was outnumbered.

Again, more forceful, betraying the anger of the witch who spoke, "Who are you?" her accent missing.

"Hermione," it was soft, sounding foreign on her lips.

She did not expect the pure vitriol from the other witch, "Bullshit," she spat, stepping closer, her wand still between them, "you may fool the others, but you will not fool me." She was sure in her words, each sound spoke carefully, anger dripping through, off of each syllable, wrapped carefully around her tongue, spoken in defiance.

Hermione kept her hands up, surrendering herself, hoping she knew the woman in front of her as well as she thought she did, hoping she did not differ too much from the one she had married. She said a silent prayer, not believing in any God, but suddenly, finding if she was going to die, she would rather cover her bases, just in case.

"I am, test me." It was low, above a growl, but barely, she mentally cursed herself for letting her guard down.

Their standoff was broken by the raucous laughter of the two men from the other room. As if Fleur realized the danger they were all in, an unknown stranger in the kitchen, and her entire family in the small house, she paused, eyes narrowing, "I think I will do that. Come, with me." Her accent had not yet returned, her guard not yet dropped. She was careful to not give away any extra information.

The blonde woman practically shoved Hermione through the kitchen door, her wand pressed into the smaller woman's back, another arm holding onto her bicep. They paused momentarily, Hermione unexpectedly jerking to a stop, Fleur spoke, a smile upon her delicate features, her accent back, "'Ermione and I are going out to 'ave a drink." She told the boys, not waiting for a reply, nudging her captive towards the door.

Hermione heard Bill call out after them, "Alright! Don't have too much fun without us." The door shut behind them, and the friendly Fleur was once again replaced with the ice queen of their school days. The Fleur that she could remember hating, despising really, for no apparent reason. Remembering whispering behind her with Ginny, their childish nickname for her swimming to the surface.

She was once again jerked to a stop, they were alone, outside of her house, a good distance away, down the dirt path that had led to it. They had a small country cottage, away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Muggles would have hated the distance from everything, but they could apparate. Hermione dared to turn back towards Fleur, shooting her a questioning glance.

"I do not know who you are, but I do not want to hurt you without reason," space between their bodies, Hermione had not noticed the distance that had grown between them, Fleur's wand still jabbed unceremoniously into her lower back, but they were no longer joined at the hip.

"Alright," she nodded slightly, still not turning to face her guard fully. She felt a tugging, just behind her navel, a pulling and swirling, her body resisting the contortions it was being forced into, taking forms it was never meant to. The familiar sickness of apparition washing over her body.

Her feet hit hard ground, refusing to give under her weight, the sickness ebbing away as quickly as it had appeared, she felt a loss, her skin now cold, as contact with her captor disappeared. She collapsed to her knees, elbows digging into the grass beneath her, she gasped for breath, her head spinning. Fleur stood over her, wand still trained on her, Hermione didn't care, her body shuddering, she coughed violently.

Fleur's icy blue eyes were trained on their prey, she felt no pity for the weak form before her eyes. It merely looked like Hermione, she could not, would not allow herself, to feel anything for the stranger inhabiting her friend's body.

After what felt like an eternity, Hermione sat back on her haunches, brushing her bushy locks out of her face, she stayed silent, eyes unfocused, staring straight ahead, her hands rested on her thighs. Fleur stood over her, just behind her, slightly to her left, casting a long shadow over Hermione.

It was evening, the dimming light fading, plunging the area into darkness. She looked around, slowly, taking in her surroundings, a field of some sort, Atop a hill, a lone tree ahead of her. There was little cover, if she ran, Fleur would have the advantage. She could only stay and fight, but getting to her wand, the wand tucked into her boot, a second one, hidden, unregistered, she'd gotten after the Ministry had fallen, that would be nearly impossible to do without being caught.

Every nerve in her body screaming to do something, she resisted, her fingers curling, digging painfully into her palms. "Tell me, who you are." Firm, commanding, cold and distant.

"I did." Her voice was hard, uncooperative, an unspoken challenge, defiance.

"You lied."

She laughed, bursting forth, unbidden, disbelief at her situation, "Then I'll prove it."

"You cannot prove to be someone you are not."

"Ask me anything."

"Knowledge will not prove anything, her life is constantly monitored by the press, appearing in the papers every time she moves."

"Then I suppose we are at a stalemate, if you will not believe my word, and will not trust any proof I can offer," Hermione stated, feigning interest in her fingers, picking at the dirt beneath them, her tone trying to sound as disinterested as possible. Her goal to lower the blonde's suspicion, for her wand to fall just long enough she could cast a stunning spell.

She should have known Fleur would be on to her, her own uneasily fooled. She had berated herself for her idiotic response earlier, the reason she was now in this situation. She could only hope that their lives had not differed too much despite their different worlds, she probably would fail a knowledge based test at knowing herself if she were honest.

Fleur's eyes never removed themselves from her, she was secretly pleased, knowing that her lover's gaze was on her so, hoping she could elicit the same reaction. A thought suddenly struck her, a devilish smile crossing her features, she thought it her only chance.

Turning to face the blonde, her head hung low, she put her hands up in surrender again, still close to the ground, she spoke quietly.

"You're right. I'm not Hermione," she paused, sensing the blonde tense, proud she had caught an impostor, but unsure just who the impostor was. "Well, I am, I'm just not the Hermione you know, but I am still her."

She raised her eyes, meeting the questioning gaze of the blonde enchantress. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly, trying to collect her confidence, to steady herself, her nerves tingling, growing restless, she spoke slowly, never looking away from her mate. Knowing that this, right here, this moment, would either save her, or she would never live to see another day.

The words on her tongue tasting unfamiliar, foreign and heavy, it was not a language she used often, but one that held significance. It was the language of the Veela, she knew this Fleur would know it, would know the weight of it, the meaning of her words.

_"I'm yours."_

Fleur's blue eyes were wide, tinged with flecks of gold, shock written plainly on her fingers, her wand fell from her grip, she crashed to her knees. Hermione surged forward, wrapping her arms around the petite blonde, pulling her limp form close, keeping her from hitting the ground. She supported the blonde, burying her nose in her hair, savoring their proximity, she inhaled, the familiar scent of her mate comforting her in ways she had not expected.

The language of the Veela was only known by Veelas and their mates once they had bonded completely, it was sensual, tapping into the beast within, speaking directly to their core. Hermione had expected a strong reaction from it, but had not expected what she got.

A growl, low and dangerous from deep within the older woman, possessive, taking without concern, _"Mine," _the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, alert, tingling with excitement. The body in her arms now tensing, strong arms moving beneath her, _"Always,"_ Hermione spoke, a whisper, carried on the gentle breeze, she released her mate, the quarter Veela no longer needing the support she had provided.

Gold eyes stared into caramel ones, decidedly avian in their appearance, Fleur reached back out, needing contact between them. Her hand cupped Hermione's cheek, lightly, tenderly, feeling the younger witch nuzzle into her hand, a new feeling coursing through her, like electricity, her joints burned, her chest was warm, bursting with happiness.

"Fleur-"

"Shhh," she spoke, "Do not ruin ze moment," soft and tender, quiet, barely above a whisper. They stayed there, silent, eyes searching, the earlier animosity gone, replaced with a new tension, neither daring to make a move and bring it all crashing down.

Fleur's eyes began to change, the gold slowly disappearing with each blink, her pupils shifting from narrow slits, black still blown wide. Her logical mind regaining control, questions flooding, bursting forth unbidden, "Mates? How? Are we- we have to be- when?"

"I can't answer that, I don't know how. But, I've been yours for long enough. Since you healed me," she spoke carefully, unsure of what she could say, how much she could say, this wasn't her Fleur, wasn't the one she knew, had bonded with, merely a lookalike, but the bond had worked well enough. She'd never spoken the language to anyone else though, so maybe, she supposed, the language was permanent, could be spoken to anyone as long as a bond was intact.

Fleur's response had been unexpected though, she had recognized the changes, the beginning of a shift into her Veela form, she'd only witnessed it when emotions ran high, her Fleur had impressive control over the creature within.

"What was that?" Fleur asked, nervously, shifting closer to Hermione, needing to close the distance, an overwhelming need to touch the small woman in front of her, the contact of their hands no longer enough.

Hermione accepted the contact without question, welcoming her into her arms, pulling her into a tight embrace, her head resting on Fleur's shoulder, finding just as much comfort in it as her companion. "Hmm? What was what?"

"That, just before, you spoke and it was like something came to life, I just, I had to be near you, something demanded it, I had to," she paused, taking a deep breath, slowly releasing it, "possess you."

At that, Hermione pulled away slightly, regarding Fleur carefully, seriously, her eyes drank in every detail, the shining blue eyes now dulled and fatigued, a rosy tint coloring her cheeks, her ragged breathing and a sheen of sweat. "Fleur," she spoke, a pause, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, worrying at it, she continued on, "Was your Veela awake?"

She knew the answer already, dreading hearing the words, needing them confirmed just the same, her eyes closed, squeezed shut as dread filled her, snaking out from the pit of her stomach. Another change. She cursed herself again, she'd made another mistake, this one couldn't be covered up, shoved into the corner and ignored.

"No," there it was, her head fell as the confirmation reached her ears. Her fingers curled, driving half moons into her palm, she slowly nodded, unable to raise her gaze to meet her mate's.

"I'm sorry."

It was all she could say. It was violent, painful, the first time could be fatal if not guided through it, a slow process, the body adjusting as it came alive was preferred. She'd just shocked it into existence, and it very much wanted to be known. Fleur was fighting it, sweat dripping down her lithe body, she'd forced it back, into hiding, into the recesses of her mind.

"You need to let it go, relax and let it happen," she urged, determined to help the blonde through her first time, hoping she would survive, coaching her through a process she could never experience, she hoped she was good enough.

The Veela, the physical embodiment of love, laid dormant in its host, sleeping until it was needed. The first time, Hermione had witnessed a slow, gradual transformation, one Fleur had been prepared for, each new step coming as their love progressed. But this time, this time it was sudden, without warning, without preparation, it would be as rough and painful as their relationship, a visual representation of them.

Bones cracked, limbs twisting and contorting, taking up new shapes, new positions, Fleur cried out, a strangled scream ripping from her lungs. Her fingers lengthened, her nails becoming claws. Her spine twisted, bending as it reshaped, wings bursting forth, tearing her shirt as they appeared. Her eyes glowed gold, the shade of the sunset sky, flecks of blue swimming in their pools. Her feet became taloned, curving and splitting to those of a bird, breaking free of their prison. Hermione bore witness to the transformation, her heart breaking with every painful sound. She had not meant to force this upon her love, tears pricking at her eyes, she held herself tightly, waiting for the moment it would be complete. She had seen her mate in this form before, but it was rare, and always left her in awe at the power contained within. The Veela were masters at provoking strong reactions from others, known as sirens of the skies, they demanded respect in their presence.

Finally, with one last painful scream, her head turned towards the sky, the last flickers of light fading, giving way to navy, her transformation was complete. Fleur raised a clawed hand, holding it in front of her face, slowly wiggling her figers, observing the movement before taking in the rest of her new form.

She fell forward, her body going limp, drained from the exertion. Hermione was ready, catching her and guiding her to the ground. She sat there, Fleur's head resting heavily in her lap, gingerly brushing her golden hair out of her face, twisting and twirling her fingers through it, the motion soothing to them both.

Hermione gazed down at her sleeping mate, tender eyes watching for any sign of distress. She would stay here and wait for her to return to her human form, hopefully that transformation less painful than this. Her mind wandering to the first time she had witnessed this same transformation, fear spiking, coursing through her veins, breathing hard, begging for Fleur to return to her.

A slight chuckle at how foolish she'd been, her mind stuck in a panic, war clinging to their lives like a needy child, she'd thought they'd been found, a curse had hit Fleur, she'd nearly lost her mind. It was ridiculous now of course, looking back, but she'd seen the same fear in Fleur's eyes, their positions switched. She'd seen the small changes, eyes, hands, but she had not been prepared for the feet or the wings, watching Fleur crumple in front of her like discarded paper.

* * *

The night was cool, still, only the chirping of insects and the occasional flash of a firefly's light as they walked home, hand in hand, silence between the pair. So many questions unspoken, unanswered, left for another time, too much had already passed this night. They longed to be closer, pulled together by an invisible string, puppets of their own lives, their master urging them to reach out, but held back by something. They walked, the soft dirt crunching under their shoes, melting away, cracking and breaking, their route illuminated by the stars.

Words were inadequate, and so they walked. Eyes gazed up at the night sky, a deep royal blue, observing the stars, universes looking down upon them, feeling inconsequential, Fleur stopped in her tracks. Unwilling to relinquish her grasp, she pulled Hermione back to her, staring intently at the shorter witch.

"What will 'appen when we go back?"

"I suppose I hadn't really thought of that," Hermione answered, a slight shrug of her shoulders. She looked down at their joined hands.

"We can't very well go around acting like we're togezzer, we're both married."

"Hmm," Hermione agreed, "Then, that leaves us with very few options, I suppose we'll just have to pretend now won't we?" Her voice had fallen to take the know-it-all tone she had sported in her youth, a defense mechanism, she'd learned as she grew. It still reared its ugly head on occasion.

"Don't be like zat," a soft voice scolded her, hurt just barely masked, Fleur's hand reached up, tenderly resting upon Hermione's cheek, her thumb stroking the soft skin below.

Hermione wanted to take Fleur into her arms, to pull her close and kiss her, to chase her through the fields, falling, laughing, rolling in the grass, not a single care in the world touching them. She wanted to experience the freedom she'd been cut off from for so long, to experience the joys of loving openly, of not having to hide, retreat away and shun the world outside.

She knew if she did that now, she'd never go back, she'd never finish what she set out to accomplish, she'd never free her Fleur. _Her Fleur_, her mind echoed, reminding her that the look-a-like in front of her was not her Fleur, was not the one she'd made so many happy memories with, was not the one she'd confessed her love to on the beaches outside of Shell Cottage, the one who had nursed her back to health. She knew almost nothing about the woman who stood in front of her, despite the electricity that surged through them when they touched, she was merely a clone of her love.

They would have much to discuss, but now, now was hardly the time. They would be expected back soon, and already her self control was waning. _This Fleur is married to another_, that annoying inner voice reminded her, and so she broke from the touch, her heart screaming at her to return, Fleur's hand still hanging in the open, hurt evident in her eyes, hurt that Hermione did not, could not see, as she looked away.

"I'm sorry," she said again, apologizing too many times for the young night, more than she'd ever intended to, chastising herself for messing up again.

Fleur stood there silently, her hand returning to her side, unwilling to lose her grip on Hermione's hand, she squeezed it tighter. "Don't be, I understand."

Hermione turned to look back at her, her eyes shining with moisture. "I need to explain," she did not deserve such an angel, not after all she had done, her greed, always taking for herself and still wanting more. The weight on her shoulders would surely crush her beneath it soon.

Fleur nodded, her eyes pleading, urging her to go on, still unsure of who this woman was, this woman who was not Hermione but bore her image.

Hermione breathed in deeply, stilling her nerves, a sigh, she waved her hand, transfiguring a patch of grass into a bench, old wood splitting and splintering, worn with years of use, neglect, its wood greying, much like the park benches she'd remembered from her childhood. Her mom had sat on one, a book open on her lap as she read silently, Hermione running to and fro, playing with the other local children in their neighborhood park, screaming for her mother to watch her perform some (not so) impressive trick, memories of happier, simpler times.

She led Fleur to the bench, sitting on it, their knees touching lightly, her hands folded in her lap, she looked down, memorizing the dirt clumps beneath them as though her life depended on it, but really, she wouldn't have been able to place a single one.

Another deep breath, hope that it would work better than the last, she started, "I, erm, this morning, it's not-" she wasn't sure how to start, nothing sounded right. A hand placed on top of hers, stopping her nervous fidgeting, she looked up into reassuring blue eyes, "'ow about you start from ze beginning?"

She nodded, guessing the easiest place was back home. "So, where I come from, You-know-who won the war, eight years ago. I'm not sure what else is different, but that's the most important difference, or... maybe not the most important, but the biggest. I thought I'd figured out time travel, and when I cast the spell, it brought me here, where ever here is. So, I suppose you're right, I'm not Hermione, your Hermione that is, but I am _a_ Hermione."

Fleur looked at her intently, eyes searching, looking for any hint of a lie, finally she spoke, "Is zat why you know ze Veela language?"

"Yes, I'm your mate, at least, there I am, was? I don't even know if I can get back."

"If zat is what you want, I will 'elp you," she spoke quietly, her words firm, sure in her intent, but her inner Veela was already screaming at her, thrashing about inside, the bond between the two women weak, new, but already trying to bridge the gap between them. She pulled Hermione to her feet with a smile, bright, wide, eyes shining with laughter.

Never breaking the connection between them, they made their way back to Hermione's, laughing, the weight of the world gone for now, cast out from their tiny paradise.

* * *

Fleur awoke, a cold sweat dripping from her brow, breathing hard, pulse racing, she sat up, her face in her hands, new emotions brewing just under the surface. The blankets atop her body constricting, heavy, trapping her, she had to go. Something was wrong, very, very wrong. She slipped out of bed, taking care to not wake Bill, tiptoeing her way to the kitchen downstairs.

She needed to speak to her mother urgently, she was unfamiliar with many aspects of her Veela heritage, her blood being too diluted. Her transformation earlier should not have happened, but Hermione, she'd known what was happening, recognized it before Fleur had, she must have seen it before.

Fleur leaned against the counter, her arms spread wide, palms resting on the cool metal of the sink, she felt weak, the walk down to the kitchen draining her. She leaned forward, turning on the tap, unceremoniously drinking straight from the faucet, so unrefined and inelegant, her mother would have a fit if she saw her now. The cold water only barely sated her thirst, her body still wanting something else. A craving clinging to her mind, making its presence known but still a mystery as to what it was, a phantom taste on her lips.

Finally she turned, and kneeling before the fire, tossed a pinch of gray powder into the flames, looking like a glittery ash, it had mismatched clumps. The flames turned purple tinged with red, she spoke clearly, "Delacour manor," and somewhere in France, her head appeared in the dying light of a fire.

It took only a moment for a woman to appear, an older, more elegant, refined version of herself. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, a silk nightgown hidden under a soft, pink robe, hastily tied around her waist.

"Je suis desole, Maman," she spoke hurriedly, panic tugging at the edges of her words, "_I met my mate," _the words burst forth, eager to escape their prison.

_"I know Fleur, this is nothing new, I was at your wedding years ago, remember?" _Her eyes rolled as she spoke, but a playful smile upon her lips, she could not help but tease her eldest daughter as she spoke. The call was late, it was nearing 4 A.M. but, she was always happy to hear from her child.

_"Maman, that is not what I mean, I have met my mate, she spoke in the Veela language to me."_

_"Fleur,"_ she spoke, a stern warning disguised in her voice, _"do not lie to me about such things."_

_"Maman, I am not lying, I don't know what's happening now, I need your help."_ Her voice was soft, pleading, her eyes cast towards the ground, looking at the cobblestone base of the fireplace, the rock cutting into her knees as she kneeled.

_"You know a mate has never been found to exist for less than a half blood Veela, it is how you were able to marry Bill. Your Veela wouldn't have allowed it otherwise."_

_"I know, Maman, but tonight, my Veela awoke, I took its form earlier though I did not hold it for long."_

_"My Fleur," _she spoke, her voice weak, hands covering her mouth, tears pricking at her eyes, _"I never thought you would experience such a thing, I am sorry I did not prepare you for it, your Veela will not be happy until the bond is complete. Who is it, your mate?"_

It was time for tears to well in Fleur's eyes, so full of emotion, of the difficult situation she had been placed in, knowing the challenges that would face her, choked out around a sob, "It is 'ermione," barely above a whisper. She had hoped her mother would not hear, would not comment on such a thing, the horrible fate dealt to her.

_"'Ermione? But how? Isn't she married to Ronald?"_

Fleur nodded, unable to speak the words aloud, her Veela seething at the mention of his name.

"Fleur, I am so sorry," she spoke, the unfamiliar words of the English language causing Fleur to look up, her cheeks shining, wet with tears, her face flushed.


	4. Chapter 4

I'd like to thank you all for your reviews! I'm going to try and keep the AU to the present after this, there will still be past moments to catch up on some things, but I'd like to show the development between them at this point as I'm doing with the "book world" (which will become more and more AU with each chapter). Enjoy!

* * *

Fleur paused for a moment, taking a drink, the ceramic warm to the touch, heated from the steaming liquid it contained. She savored the taste of the brown liquid, enjoying the burn it brought, transferring it's heat to her, leaving her mouth dry and her body warmed. The glass made a tiny clink as it made contact with the table, breaking the silence.

Her hand rested next to it, the cold stone cooling her skin, her other elbow on the table, her hand tucked a blonde strand behind her ear, accompanying it with a slight duck. Her fingers curled to a fist and she rested her cheek upon them, her normally former posture now relaxed. Hermione's hand reached out, fingers covering Fleur's, guided by an unknown force. Fleur stared off in the distance, her blue eyes unfocused, she began to recount her story- their story- once again.

"And you- she- stayed behind, saying she needed more time, but was confident the boys would be okay."

_The morning was a sad one, silence barging in, filling the space, taking all it could. Tension reigned here, dragging its victims, kicking and screaming, pulling at them all. The tapping, clanking of metal spoons upon glass bowls overpowering their breakfast. Ron and Harry already dressed as Death Eaters, their shabby robes dirty, torn, loose threads hanging at the seams. The two of them eyeing their glasses with disgust, filled halfway with a glowing, thick liquid, pale blue, their polyjuice. Once they drank it, their clock would start. The next horcrux was at Gringott's, in the Lestrange vault. Harry would become Bellatrix and Ron would be her guard, a nameless figure, unimportant._

_Hermione sat across from them, her scarred arm hidden, resting in her lap, awkwardly she balanced a spoon in her left hand, feeling foreign and alien. Her movements forced, clumsy, belying the amount of concentration it took to attempt this bowl. The sounds of brown puffs and milk dribbling back into the bowl could be heard, followed by an exasperated sigh and the clink of a spoon falling back into the bowl._

_The boys looked at the scene, reminiscent of a petulant child not getting their way, Hermione was slouched back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, before they averted their eyes once more, focusing on their uninteresting meals._

_"Why don't you try some toast?" Bill asked, popping a couple of slices of bread into the toaster, not bothering to wait for an answer._

_He didn't see Hermione shrug, but Fleur did, having just entered the room, her fingers trailing lightly across the brunette's shoulder blades. The boys shot a questioning glance at each other before Harry spoke, "Looks like it's time," he said, resigned, reaching for his glass. _

_Ron followed suit, their glasses clinking as they toasted, "Bottoms up," the youngest Weasley stated. They plugged their noses and gagged down the foul liquid. Their bodies began to change, contorting unnaturally until they were no longer themselves._

_A high pitched whine of a voice came from Harry, "Guess we'd best be off, wish us luck." His voice lacked the normal confidence, and with that, the two boys apparated away._

"It did not go so well, I am afraid," Fleur continued, the pad of her thumb lightly tracing over Hermione's knuckles as she spoke. "Zey were caught, fleeing before zey made it to ze vault or so I'd heard, I couldn't be sure what 'appened in zat time, zey never came back. Ze next time we saw zem was at ze Battle." Fleur looked down, admiring the pattern of the granite table, her voice distant, somber, her voice cracked as she spoke, the words resisting their release, preferring to stay locked in their unspoken prison.

_The Order had apparated to the grounds just outside Hogwarts, having received an urgent call from McGonagal, the castle was being swarmed by Death Eaters. Hermione and Fleur stood at the front, their hands joined, they were ready to lead the attack. Their cloaks dripping, the rain pouring around them, lightning blazing a path through the dark sky, casting eerie shadows around them. _

_They ran across the bridge, towards the castle, their shoes splashing loudly through puddles, soaking through. Their only concern was that they made it there in time. Adrenaline pumping through their veins, pounding in their ears, they pushed open the heavy wooden doors to the castle, the entrance hall was dimly lit with only a few candles. Shrieks, screams, laughter filled the hallways, incantations yelled out, jets of light tinging the grey stones with shades of red, green, blue as they shot out of wands, coursing towards their targets. The entrance hall was a mad house, chaos reigned here. Fleur and Hermione went their separate ways, a shared look between the two, an understanding, their hands parted and Hermione took off upstairs, running as fast as she could, taking steps in twos and threes._

_Fleur had gone the other way, sprinting towards the dungeons, they would regroup later, but for now, they had to save the students. Hermione made her way towards the Gryffindor common room, hoping to find Ginny or Neville, they'd be able to fill her in on what happened. At least, she hoped they would. Screams from up ahead, followed by a crazed cackle of a laugh, a jet of green light raced by. Bellatrix._

_She froze in her spot, her arm hurting, the scars she'd left still not fully healed. Her wand at her side, a group of students ran past her, retreating in fear. Time seemed to slow around her, her mind becoming clear, she raised her wand, determination painted across her face, her arm outstretched, "Stupefy!" she yelled, the danger in her voice evident, a burst of light shot forth, Bellatrix turned, just in time to see the spell hit, sending her stumbling backwards, stunned. Hermione made her way towards the crazed witch, anger in her eyes._

_She looked down at the body laying at her feet, the world around them having melted away, screams fading to silence. She kneeled down, delicately taking the wand from Bellatrix's hand, a dark look on her face. She twirled the bent piece of wood in her fingers absentmindedly, "You know, someone like you, really shouldn't have magic, such a shame, the pain you've caused others. Maybe," her gaze turned towards her previous captor, "it's time you experience it for yourself." Bellatrix looked up at her, eyes wide, fear evident for the first time, she couldn't fight what was going to happen._

_Her mind filled with dark memories, countless times that she'd experienced the unforgivable curses, she refused to cast one herself, but the woman in front of her deserved to die, she didn't deserve life, she had proven that time and time again, leaving her mark on Hermione, "Sectumsempra," she cast, barely above a whisper, leaving the witch to bleed, she turned and left._

_The noise surrounding her had died down, the hallways nearby vacant, she looked around, searching for anyone. Seeing nobody, she snapped Bellatrix's wand in half, dropping its pieces at her feet, she walked back down the stairs. The fight had migrated outside, to the castle grounds. She rejoined the action, rushing to Fleur's side. "What'd I miss?" She yelled over the din, casting spells as she went, offering Fleur a lopsided grin, she secretly enjoyed it, the test of her skills, proving her knowledge outside of written exams._

_The Order was rushing forward, pushing the Death Eaters further back, they were retreating, the fight looked as though it may be over soon. Harry and Ron had yet to be seen by any of the members, the rain had yet to subside. Fleur and Hermione fought, side by side, pushing forwards, forcing the stragglers to retreat, until..._

_A crack sounded, a flash of lightning, the air tensed and filled with a loud laughter, curses were called out, barely heard over the pounding of the rain. The retreating figures stopped, pushing forward, a new fierceness in their movements. Now resolute in their actions, they pushed forwards, taking the Order by surprise._

_Another flash of lightning, breaking across the sky, illuminating a figure, standing perched atop the stone wall surrounding the courtyard. Two bony hands, one barely clutching a wand, reached up, pulling back the hood, revealing sickly pale skin, stretched across bones, two red eyes, glowing angrily, the snakelike dark lord himself stood there. His laugh heard above the commotion of the battle raging below. Next to him, to his right, stood another cloaked figure, hood up, his head bowed. _

_Voldemort spoke, his raspy voice filling the courtyard. "Bring me Harry Potter!" He spoke, his wand raised, still held limply in his bony hand. The fighting amongst them had stopped, everyone looking about, trying to find Harry. The rain still beat down on them. What seemed like an eternity passed, until finally, a murmur passed through the crowd, figures shuffled to the side, and Harry stepped forward. His shoulders high, a proud look on his face, resigned for the moment, "Alright, you've got what you want, now let's finish this." He spoke bravely, confidence in his voice, he issued the challenge._

_A strange laugh filled the silence, deep, a hollow baritone, "My boy, your confidence is misplaced, this is your last chance, join me or be prepared to meet your maker." The last part was a hiss, belying the threat in his words. _

_"Never!" Harry yelled, raising his wand in preparation to cast a spell._

_"Very well then, have it your way." He spoke to the figure next to him, "Prove your loyalty." A simple command, his true desire hidden within, the challenge laid down. The figure jumped from his position, landing on the grey cobblestone of the courtyard, water splashing around him. He raised his wand, its dark wood stained darker with the rain, jets of light shot out from the wands, almost at the same time, the dueled, twisting and turning around each other, casting and blocking, the damage around them mounting up, everything around them stopped. Finally, the hooded figure saw his chance, a small one, Harry was caught off guard, the killing curse coming flying at him, a jet of green light, he couldn't stop it._

_It hit him squarely in his chest, one last gasp, he fell forward, collapsing to his knees, his wand slipped from his fingers, and then, he hit the ground, lifelessly, a splash, his glasses cracked, eyes staring vacantly._

_The figure finally pulled his hood back, kneeling in front of the body, his orange hair standing out, making his identity unmistakable. He picked up Harry's wand, turning the wood in his hand, head still bowed, he handed it off to the dark lord. _

_The onlookers stood in shock, unable to believe what they had just witnessed, Harry Potter was murdered by his own best friend. A cackle, a sound that grated on her nerves, a sound that she hated, "Join me, it is not yet too late, your savior has fallen. Join me and you may yet survive."_

_Hermione stood there in shock, unable to move, her mind unable to process what had just passed, Fleur grabbed her, pulling her inside, they were retreating, but she couldn't get her legs to cooperate. She stumbled, tripping over her soaking shoes, tears dripping down her face, mixing with the rainwater that had chilled her to the bone._

_A soft voice spoke, __"Come, ma belle, zis is not yet over." Hermione let herself be led away, Fleur apparating them away, to a safe place. The surviving members of the Order would have to regroup later, a new location would have to be found, Grimmauld Place was no longer secret._

"That's strange," Hermione sported a frown, the information passing through her mind, she paused, a thoughtful looked crossing her face, her eyebrows furrowed. "We defeated him at that battle. Ron didn't betray us, and we'd managed to escape Gringott's with the cup. It seems to really diverge when I made the decision to stay with you."

"I mean, there were probably smaller changes even before that, but, I'd wager, that's where things went wrong. Obviously, we never got together in my world, I started dating Ron shortly after the Battle actually."

"'Ow did zings 'appen in your world?" Fleur asked with barely veiled curiosity.

"Well, for starters, you married Bill," she paused, stifling a laugh at the ridiculous face Fleur made, accompanied by a gagging sound.

"Excuse-moi, but did you just say I married Bill?" The blonde looked almost insulted, as though she couldn't fathom such an idea.

Hermione nodded, "Yeah, you married him, we were all there, at the Burrow, at least, until the Death Eaters crashed it."

"But 'ow? 'E is an attractive man, do not get me wrong, but 'e is... mmm, not my type, too hard, and lacking in curves, and 'e is most definitely not female."

"I can't answer that, never bothered to ask, you always seemed happy together, you've got three kids after all. Anyways," she cleared her throat, removing her hand from Fleur's remembering she shouldn't be here, she flattened down her shirt, a nervous gesture. "From there, we ran, and found the locket the next day, and sometime after that, there was a fight and Ron left, but he came back, saved Harry's life, and destroyed that. I was still captured and held hostage at Malfoy Manor," she spoke monotonously, as though checking off boxes on a list, she'd begun to count off on her fingers.

"We all left Shell Cottage together, except I was Bellatrix and Harry hid under his cloak, we were successful, and we went to Hogwart's to try and find the diadem, and that was his last day. The war ended after that. Ron didn't abandon us after that."

"Wait, ze locket- zat must be it, Ron still wore it when zey left, we did not know 'ow to destroy it."

A chime sounded, a clock in another room, its low melody filling the house causing Fleur to jump at the sound. "Shit," the unrefined word slipped from her delicate lips, causing a smile to break out upon Hermione's face. "I am sorry, 'Ermione, but we 'ave to leave soon," she grabbed the glasses of now cold tea from the table, nimble fingers hooked around the handles, "We 'ave a family dinner tonight at my parent's," she continued, noting the confused expression the brunette sported.

She sat, frozen in her chair, unsure if she could pretend, should she pretend? She hadn't seen Fleur's mother since the wedding, and she was rather intimidating then. She was barely aware of the Frenchwoman leading (read: dragging) her back to their room, telling her how it would be alright, to just follow her lead, they could get through this without any issues.

Before she knew it, they were apparating away to the Delacour Manor, Fleur's arm wrapped snugly around her waist. She subconsciously leaned into Fleur's side, a blonde boy running towards them, Hermione didn't recognize him.

Fleur leaned in, placing a soft kiss atop Hermione's head, whispering "Zat is Leo, your nephew," as she did so. A small nod from the brunette, as the boy latched on, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, "Aunty 'Mione!" he shouted, "You're here!"

She smiled, taken aback by such an outpouring of affection from the small boy, she crouched down to his level, hoping she could pull this off. "Of course I'm here! I couldn't stay away from my favorite nephew," she said, excitement evident in her voice.

Hermione shot a smile back at Fleur as the he pulled her eagerly away, "C'mon, I wants to show you my new toy!" Fleur couldn't help but laugh, a light and airy chuckle, her hands in her pockets as she watched her (not) wife get drug off, not knowing her nephew wouldn't let her go now.

He was Gabrielle's only child, he'd just turned 4 and seemed to have a never ending supply of energy. Fleur walked over towards the patio, joining the rest of her family, taking a seat next to her little sister.

"Where's 'Ermione?"

"She 'as been taken 'ostage by Leo," Fleur simply stated, sharing a laugh with the others, "I will go rescue 'er later."

"Now, now Fleur, zat is not ze way to treat your mate," her mother teased, taking a sip of her wine, a dark red, the glass hiding her smile.

"I zink she enjoys it, she 'as always wished we could 'ave children," Fleur responded, wistfully, a far away look in her eyes, thinking about what could have been, what was so close to having been.

"It is not yet too late," her father added, "you could always stay 'ere and raise a family like your sister."

"Hmm," Fleur knew that would never happen, her mate wouldn't allow it, she didn't like to leave unfinished business. She looked over, twisting in her chair, to watch Hermione playing with Leo by the pool, a small beach created by magic, they were building a sandcastle, toy dinosaurs laid at their feet.

Watching the pair, she began to study the differences, her mate had not looked this happy or carefree in some time, she was stressed, carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, the burden of guilt almost too much, it had taken a toll on the younger witch.

Fleur felt drawn to the woman in front of her, reminiscent of a time before, when they still had hope, when nothing felt impossible, their stolen moments on the beach carrying them onward. She made her way to join the pair, kneeling in the sand with them, she imagined herself doing this with her own child someday.

So lost in thought was she, that she didn't notice her sister sneaking up behind her, nor did she notice Hermione secretly conspiring with her, at least, not until it was two late. Strong arms wrapped around her torso and another set around her legs as she was drug towards the pool and dunked in unceremoniously. She had struggled to break free of there grasp, but had failed, her consolation prize being that she'd managed to knock Hermione off balance, and grabbing for her, had pulled her in as well.

The younger witch had gasped as the cold water made contact with her body, and flipping her sopping locks back, she splashed Fleur, a wave of water coming towards her angrily, as the blonde woman laughed at her, splashing her back. Their fight was interrupted by a cannon ball as Leo jumped in to join them.

Gabrielle stood at the edge of the pool, laughing at them, now the only one who was dry, the two women in the pool shooting a glance at each other before returning their attention to the troublemaker. A silent spell, wandless magic, from Hermione, and maybe a little help from Fleur and they drug her in to the pool, her protests going unheeded as the three witches proceeded to try and splash each other, Leo rushing to aid his mother in fighting off her attackers.

Their fight was interrupted by the clearing of a throat, a severe looking woman stood over them, her pale blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun, four towels appeared in her hands, "It is time for dinner," she spoke in a serious tone, before her lips cracked into a smile. "Dry off and come eat, zat is, if you can manage to act like adults for a moment."

The Delacours all answered, "Yes, grandmere," their heads hung low, having been reprimanded by the matriarch of the family. They climbed out of the pool, each taking a towel and the elderly woman turned and left before the group broke out into laughter once again.

Towels wrapped around their shoulders like capes, the four youngest members of the family made their way back towards the manor, Fleur gravitating towards Hermione, her hand reaching out, fingers intertwining with the other witch's. She shot her a shy smile. Hermione's nerves melted away, she began to think that things may not be so bad after all. She returned the smile, a light squeeze of their hands, it felt natural.

The clan gathered around a long rectangular table, their matriarch at the head of the table. A feast was laid out before them, many of the dishes unrecognizable to Hermione. She nervously took a small portion of each, unable to identify most, she believed them to be traditional Veela items. Fleur noticed her poking at most of them, sliding the items around on her plate, she had hoped it would go unnoticed as she did not want to seem rude to her hosts.

Fleur leaned in, her breath hot on her ear, "Try ze chicken, ze one to your left," she whispered, placing a tender kiss to her cheek. The intimate gesture ignored by the rest of the family, used to tender moments between mates. Hermione smiled, a silent thank you passing between them. She cut into the chicken, still unsure of what to expect.

Gabrielle sat on her other side, her attention focused on Leo, assisting him in cutting his dinner into smaller bites. Hermione suddenly longed for the chance to do that for her own daughter someday, unsure if she would ever have the opportunity, she watched them with tender eyes.

She was pulled from her thoughts when a voice spoke, Fleur's grandmother, "It looks as zough someone wants to experience mozerhood." Her accent was thick, but her voice was knowing, it startled Hermione. She turned back to her plate, cutting through the chicken with renewed vigor.

Fleur answered for her, "We 'ave always wanted babies, but it is too dangerous." Hermione took a bite of chicken, blushing, she nodded in agreement, unsure how to answer.

"Nonsense! It is perfectly safe 'ere, wiz ze clan. You do not 'ave to be alone," her grandmother chided, this time her voice sounded more like a scold than she had earlier.

"Grandmaman, zis is not ze time nor is it ze place to 'ave such discussions," Fleur responded, holding her ground, unwilling to have such talks at the dinner table.

"But it is never ze time according to you."

"Because it is a matter to be discussed between 'Ermione and I, not anyone else." She reached out taking her mate's hand, needing the support it provided, and Hermione was happy to oblige, unable to resist smiling at the Frenchwoman who so willingly defended her.

* * *

Dinner had passed, relatively smoothly, the conversation staying light, easy after they had moved on from the discussion of babies, Hermione had begun to let her guard down, aided by the wine, she wasn't sure how much she'd consumed to be honest, the glass had kept refilling itself automatically, and it had been some time since she last drank, barely out of her pregnancy with Rose.

The gathering had been because of Leo's birthday a couple days prior. They'd celebrated heartily, alcohol flowing freely amongst the adults. Hermione, though, had wondered (but dared not ask), where his father was as he did not seem to be present.

The more she drank, the more she found herself moving closer to the blonde, needing to feel some contact, the new, welcomed familiarity of the other woman providing comfort to her inhibited senses. Hermione mentally reprimanded herself, seeking the comfort of another, and a woman no less, not even a day after waking up in bed next to Ron, her _husband_. What would happen when she returned home? Fleur wasn't hers anyways, but that hadn't stopped her.

She'd noticed the woman next to her was practically glowing, a strange beauty radiating from Fleur, it had to be a dream, or a trick of the mind, she'd never felt this drawn to the woman before. But now, now it was as though she couldn't take her eyes off her, drinking in her beauty, her elegance, she hadn't realized she was staring. The desire to kiss her growing stronger, climbing, reaching and desperate, pushing her closer. Her hand resting lightly on the blonde's slim waist, finding comfort on her hip. Gravity was pulling her closer, she'd felt rather than seen, rather than acknowledged, that the distance between them was shrinking.

The moment was interrupted by a giggle, childlike teasing, Leo chanted "I caught you, I caught you!" A small finger outstretched, pointing towards them. Hermione turned red, bright like a tomato, jumping away, needing to put space between them, her eyes cast towards the ground. She missed the glare Fleur shot at Leo.

They'd returned home after dinner, it was getting late by that time, the sun setting in the distance golden streaks dancing across the sky, Fleur's arm wrapped firmly around her waist. Touches between the pair turning more and more sensual, lingering, light, an unspoken need between them.

The blonde looked at her, one eyebrow raised, questioningly, she did not speak though. Hermione looked away, a blush tinting her already reddish cheeks an even darker shade. She'd had too much to drink, that was it, it was all because of the alcohol. Fleur shook her head, releasing the brunette from her grasp.

"I will be just down the 'all," she spoke, her voice soft, hiding the pain in her words. She walked towards the guest room, a room that had largely been empty, the bed unused. Fleur needed to put space between them, she feared if she did not do so, she would not be able to control herself soon. The younger woman didn't know the power she held, the effect she had on the quarter Veela. She did not turn back around, did not see the hurt shining in Hermione's eyes, hurt that she herself would deny the existence of.

The brunette shuffled her way towards her bedroom, large and unfamiliar, a bed that was not hers, full of memories she'd never have. She shut the door behind her, looking at the large object, imposing in its size, dominating the space. Reminders of just how alone she truly was here, she changed for bed before slowly pulling back the covers, lifting them up, she slid in, goosebumps pricking at her skin, she shivered.

Hermione tossed and turned that night, unable to get comfortable, her surroundings too unfamiliar, too unsafe for her, the room was too quiet, she'd adjusted long ago to the boisterous snoring of Ron, the static of the baby monitor she kept next to her bed, the scratchy wool blankets, heavy and suffocating in their own way.

With a sigh, she gave up trying to get some sleep, at least not there, she tossed back the covers, sliding out of bed, her feet touching cold wood, she jumped in shock before committing to her actions, her mind still swimming, still cloudy with the haze of too much alcohol. Her feet carried her without thought, down the hall, to a closed door, she paused at it, her head leaning against the wood, hand on the door knob, she braced herself, resigning herself to her actions once again, she was unsure if she should knock, would Fleur be mad if she didn't? What if it woke her up?

She took a deep breath, holding it, she pushed the door open, slipping inside, the blonde didn't seem to stir. Blonde hair splayed out across the pillows, half covered, she still somehow managed to look like an angel. Her arms wrapped around the other woman, pulling her close as Hermione slipped into bed next to her. Despite the unfamiliar position she found herself in, Hermione fell into a deep sleep soon after, her hand resting on top of the older woman's, around her waist.

Dreams of babies filling her mind, of having a family with the other woman, happy and carefree, raising their children in another country, far away from the problems they currently faced. Going to the beach with a horde of miniature Fleur's, going on vacation, seeing the world, all things she had wanted to do, but had feared she would never achieve.

Ron had never been one to enjoy travelling, much more content to fall into a routine, enjoying the safety of the familiar. He was caring and attentive, but not much of a risk taker, preferring to play it safe, happy with the mundane.

Images of the smiling blonde filled her dreams, and tucked herself closer, tighter into the sleeping blonde's side. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad here after all, certainly they would be different.


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you everyone for the reviews! They absolutely make my day. Sorry for the delay, I had surgery and took a day to recover, but hopefully the fluff here will make up for that. Please read and review, they really do make me happy. :)

* * *

Fleur awoke early the next morning. Or rather, she gave up her attempts at sleep at an early hour. Bill slept soundly next to her, not having to be at work that day, he was catching up on some much needed rest. Fleur, however, was not so lucky, her job at the Ministry required her presence. She'd left Gringott's after her marriage with Bill and the birth of their eldest daughter Victoire, they'd decided the life of a cursebreaker was just too dangerous for the new mother.

The Frenchwoman regarded her appearance in the small bathroom mirror. She clicked her tongue lightly, displeased with the dark bags under her eyes, she pulled out her wand and with a quick flick of her wrist, she corrected the situation. She leaned forward, looking closely, searching out any small imperfection.

"You're acting like a schoolgirl," she whispered, disbelief in her words, she closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to rid her mind of unpleasant thoughts. She had decided upon a light blue dress, similar to her Beauxbatons uniform, it was not too tight, but it still hugged her curves well enough, bordering on what could be considered inappropriate. She knew she would draw looks in that dress, her Veela thrall would not help any, but she hoped, secretly wished, that Hermione may look. Her inner Veela purred at the thought, images of the brunette's eyes trailing down her body, admiring her curves, a look of lust, of love.

She closed her eyes, shook her head, and attempted to force the thoughts from her mind, "No, I am a married woman," she scolded herself (her Veela). Fleur left that morning, not even realizing she had not kissed her husband goodbye, too eager to get to Hermione. The door shut behind her with a soft click, the house in darkness, not penetrated by the early beams of light, dawn just breaking over the horizon.

The early morning air, heavy and humid, thickly constricting, stuck to her skin, clinging for life as she walked down the street. Her heels clicked, an even steady rhythm, click, click, click, the birds chirped, their early morning song filling her ears from their perches in the trees. Her feet carried her, click, click, click, on she went.

She walked into the corner coffee shop, a sleepy employee standing at the register, yawning as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The bell atop the door that announced her entry did more to acknowledge her presence than he did. He dusted off his hands on a green apron and picked up a cup, marker in hand, "What can I get started today?"

His voice was low, filled with slumber, Fleur smiled, at least he wasn't drooling like most men did. "A large mocha please, soy milk, extra whip and can you add some caramel as well?" He nodded at her as he jotted down her order, "Anything else?"

She paused, studying the menu momentarily, finding herself nodding slowly, "Yeahhhhh" she drug out the sound, her voice unsure. It was soft, subdued, her eyes were unable to focus on the menu in front of her, she was concentrating wholeheartedly on trying to remember what Hermione usually ordered, or at least, how she took her coffee.

The young man in front of her stared at her expectantly, a second cup in his hand, marker at the ready, his shaggy sand brown hair curling lightly, obscuring his eyes, a forced smile adorned his face. The pose looked rehearsed, forced, she broke her gaze from the menu board, "What do you recommend?"

"Depends," he placed the cup down, "Are you wanting hot or cold and how sweet do you like it?"

This was too complicated, her inner Veela screamed at her, fuming as it had just wanted to do something nice, and now, now failure was a complete possibility. "It is not for me, let's play it safe I suppose."

"Safe, got it. Hard to go wrong with a vanilla latte," he looked up at her, shaking his dust colored locks from his eyes, Fleur nodded in agreement and he scribbled upon the cup once more.

* * *

Fleur apparated to outside of Hermione and Ron's house, steaming cups of coffee in hand. Her nerves had only built as she got closer, heels crunching under dirt now as she took the last few steps up the walkway. Their cottage was cozy, ivy growing up the plaster walls, a soft tan, stark in contrast to the timber trimmings, their door painted a bright red on the outside.

It was a nice home, if not a bit outdated, but sometimes things became cozier, homey as they aged, she supposed this was one. Though it did nothing to steady her nerves, her inner Veela twisting and turning, pacing impatiently back and forth, she raised one hand up, willing her nerves to steady themselves, at least momentarily, a quick rap on the wood. Panic setting in, her heart clenching, chest tightening, her breaths becoming shallow and raspy, the door opened in front of her.

Ron stood there, leaning against the door, his eyes still bleary, unfocused, his fire engine red hair tousled, he wore a baggy white shirt and a pair of dark blue pajama pants, they were oversized, the extra material bunched up around his ankles, frayed with each wear.

His eyes widened in surprise at seeing the blonde Veela at his door so early, "Fleur? What'cha doin' here?" he spoke through sleep, keeping his voice quiet. His words were slurred as he spoke, a hand going up to scratch the back of his head. Panic, her mind blanked, she hadn't thought this through. She scrambled for a reason, something believable.

"We 'ave a meeting early zis morning, I zought after last night 'Ermione might have forgotten about it."

"A meeting?" he looked at her, disbelief in his pale blue eyes, "she hasn't mentioned a meetin' to me." He shrugged moving out of the way, the door opened wider, "Have a seat," he gestured to the couch, stumbling his way back to the bedroom, "I'll go wake her."

Fleur made her way to the couch, sitting down nervously, her back straight, rigid, she set the cups down on the coffee table before her, rubbing her sweating palms on her thighs, she waited, holding her breath in anticipation, hoping that Hermione would go along with her ruse.

What felt like an eternity later, but was really probably only a couple minutes, Hermione walked into the room, fully dressed, sporting a white button up and black blazer, her pants were slim fitting slacks and she finished off the ensemble with some tennis shoes, her look was rather relaxed, a lopsided grin. She shoved her hands in her pockets shyly, "Thanks for coming by, I'd completely forgotten."

Fleur stood abruptly, eyes drinking in the image of beauty before her. She nodded, a breathy "No problem," followed as she grabbed the cups, making to follow Hermione out. Ron reappeared in the room, slightly more awake now, "You'll be home for dinner, yeah?" he asked hopefully, sporting his easygoing grin once again.

Hermione nodded at him, "If everything goes alright, I should be." She made her way over to him, hastily kissing him goodbye, a quick peck on the lips, before grabbing her handbag, "Let's go," she spoke to Fleur, trying to sneak an apologetic smile in her direction.

Fleur's hands tensed around the cups, jealousy springing forth, burning in her chest, she felt her heart cracking and her Veela thrashing about madly, the urge to destroy something taking over, to release that tension, take possession of what is hers. The gesture had been innocent, a tender act between a married couple, she had tried to remind herself, but her Veela would not listen, Hermione was _hers_ it argued.

She followed the brunette silently out the door, head hung, shame, embarrassment, anger, she could not trust her eyes would not betray her emotion. She had agreed with Hermione, had been forced to, that their lives should remain as normal as they could, but she did not, had not, thought it would be this hard. The door shut behind them, Hermione spoke, not daring to turn and face the blonde. "I'm sorry," her voice cracked, words betraying the pain she felt.

Fleur stood beside her, taking a drink of her coffee, cool enough to drink now. She didn't answer, her Veela still mad, she held out the other coffee to Hermione, the brunette silently taking the drink, their fingers brushing. Hermione looked at her finally, the blonde continued to stare straight ahead. Fingers, warm and soft, wrapped around hers, firm and sure, their grip unwavering.

Her eyes finally turned towards Hermione, anger evident, but she didn't dare break their contact, needing the touch, needing her reassurance. The pair apparated away with a pop, their insides twisting, body contorting, the feeling of passing through time and space, through walls and people leaving them momentarily dizzy, or maybe it was just the touch, their secret, they shared.

The duo arrived in a dimly lit, grimy alleyway, smelling of rot, trash littered the ground, mildewed cardboard boxes sat, ripped to shreds against the brick wall. Hermione didn't release her hand, instead her grip tightened, she led her out, tiptoeing around piles of garbage and human refuse.

They stepped out into the sunlight, sunrise now fully upon them, the world thrust out of darkness and back into the light of day, they blinked quickly, their eyes readjusting. Hermione turned to Fleur fully, "There isn't really a meeting is there?"

Fleur looked down, embarrassed at having been caught, her plan known so easily, pink colored her cheeks lightly, "No," she responded sheepishly, "zere isn't."

"Thought as much, so, since we have some time, what shall we do with it?" Hermione smiled at her, a playful glint in her caramel eyes.

"I uh, hadn't gotten zat far," she whispered, once again mentally cursing herself. Was she really that pathetic?

Hermione, unable to resist teasing her mate, pushed a bit further, "So, you got up early, went and got us coffee, made up a story to get me out of the house and alone with you, and you didn't think about what we could possibly do alone, together?" She finished her question coyly, stepping closer into Fleur's space, removing what little distance was between them, she watched Fleur's reaction closely, her head tilted up, lips parted slightly.

She saw the blonde Veela's eyes dilate, filling with want, the slim woman leaning in, coming closer, erasing the small gap between them, Hermione stepped back, a grin on her face, "Well, how about breakfast then?"

She turned and walked off, not waiting for the shocked Frenchwoman to gather her senses again, pep in her step, she tossed long honey curls over her shoulder. "There was a cafe I used to go to all the time around here, I wonder if it's still there." It was directed to no one in particular.

Fleur finally managed to regain herself, closing her mouth that had managed to hang open after Hermione just walked, she found herself regretting her choice of footwear as that evil, evil woman was now a good distance ahead of her and she couldn't very well run to catch up.

And there was no way she'd demean herself by calling after that witch. So that left just one option, thank God for long legs. It still took far too long to catch up to her, Hermione walking along at a leisurely stroll, slowed her pace slightly as the loud clicking of heels got closer.

One hand in her pocket, the other clutching her drink loosely, she brought it up to her lips, trying to hide the smile that had dominated her face since she left her mate behind. "Quit laughing," she was chastised by the indignant woman, a playful slap to her bicep only caused her to laugh.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that," she forced out around bursts of sound, unable to stop after witnessing Fleur's adorable glare. Fleur's glare slowly shifted into a pout, "Come on, it's not that funny!" Her heel stamped into the ground, acting like a petulant child.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop, I promise," the shorter woman said, holding her hands out placatingly. One shot up to cover her mouth, forcing back her laughter, determined to hide it if she couldn't stop it.

She took a deep breath, holding it, then letting it out softly, "Okay, better, I promise." Hermione held out her hand, offering it to Fleur, a gentle smile on her delicate features, she clasped it tightly, savoring the feeling of soft skin, warm against her own.

"Breakfast?" she questioned, receiving an answer in the form of Fleur's stomach growling its agreement. They walked down the street hand in hand, Hermione leading the way, her eyes drinking in their surroundings.

"You know," she spoke softly, wistfully, her voice a memory, "It's been so long since I've been able to do this without hiding," she trailed off.

"What do you mean?" Curiosity was evident, she spoke softly, tender, probing but not prodding, the other woman would open up to her when she was ready.

"I haven't been to London in years, it's too dangerous," her voice cracked at the admission, sadness evident, she sniffed, trying to force back tears. "We lost the war," she cleared her throat, "Erm, at the battle, at Hogwarts, we- my Fleur and I, that is- fled to safety. It's been years since I was last able to walk freely in London."

Fleur had the overwhelming desire to wrap her arms around the crying woman, to pull her into a tight embrace. She needed to comfort her mate. She pulled her into a hug, arms tight around her shoulders, her Veela purring at their contact. She relaxed into the contact more as Hermione's arms came up, winding themselves around her torso, one hand playing at her neck, her face buried into blonde tresses. Fleur's head dropped to rest on Hermione's shoulder, nuzzling into her neck, she breathed in the fresh scent, clean linens and honey.

Moments passed and finally, she felt Hermione's grip loosen, pulling away slightly, she wiped the tears from her eyes. She continued on, "At first, we didn't stay anywhere for long, Ron, he knew all the safe houses, and as the Order fell, we lost hope. We fled to the mainland on a boat."

She walked along slowly as she talked, not looking at Fleur, no longer looking at anything in particular, she still clung to Fleur's hand, its touch reassuring.

"We were outcasts of wizarding society, hunted down, wanted for our actions, we both sought refuge in a small muggle village, along the Spanish coast. But it was still dangerous, sequestered away there, they'll find us eventually." She offered a sad smile to Fleur, completely and utterly forced, her eyes betraying the truth, a dark amber, bloodshot and watering, "It's our little patch of paradise though."

Fleur nodded, "I understand." It wasn't her world, she knew almost nothing about it, she would not dare try to convince the other woman otherwise. Her mate had been holding in so much, carrying the weight of the world, a burden not hers to bear. Her Veela mourned, pained at the suffering of the young witch, aged beyond her years, unable to enjoy her youth.

Hermione looked around her, her features lighting up, a smile on her face, genuine this time, "There it is!" She excitedly pointed to a building just across the street from them. It looked rather plain, a simple brick facade, a large glass window in the front, gold lettering scrawled across it in an arc, Edna's Diner, the paint was faded and missing in places. Fleur had to admit, she'd never would have stopped there if it wasn't for Hermione.

The brunette pulled her across the street, hastily making her way towards the door, no concern for their safety as they darted over asphalt, Fleur attempting to protest the fast pace, cars honking at them angrily. Hermione threw open the door, a bell chiming over the door to signal their arrival in case the commotion outside wasn't enough.

An elderly woman in a flower print dress and green apron greeted them with an easy smile. "Just the two of you, dear?"

Hermione nodded, "Yes, a table near the back if could please."

"Sure thing, follow me," she grabbed a couple of menus, her glasses sliding off her nose, caught by the chain and dangling around her neck when she looked down. The trio made their way to the back of the restaurant, Fleur's eyes drinking in the surroundings.

Knick knacks decorated the walls, antiques in their own right, old family photos, black and white, hung in worn wooden frames, the tables were light wood, surrounded by high backed wood chairs, a plastic plant in the center. It felt cozy, like a farmhouse, static, frozen in time, of olden days. She could see why Hermione would enjoy this place.

They were shown to their table, away from prying eyes, although the small diner was far from crowded. Only a couple of tables were occupied, and those people seemed more interested in their food and coffees in front of them than on spying on two newcomers.

Hermione gazed intently at her menu, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth as she studied it. Fleur found herself unable to focus on the laminated paper in front of her, instead finding the beauty in front of her to be much more interesting. She'd barely even glanced at it when the waitress appeared again, asking to take their order.

She'd been so unfocused that she ended up ordering "the same". And then she wondered what it was that she had ordered when she saw the smirk that appeared on Hermione's face. She felt her gut twist, apprehension at what she would be eating, or maybe it was nerves, she was on the receiving end of that smirk. Oh that smirk, it would do her in if she wasn't careful.

"It looks exactly the same, I never thought I'd get to come here again." Her eyes were filled with wonder as she looked around the place, her excitement radiating off of her, a twinkle in her eyes again.

Fleur wanted to know more about _this_ Hermione, but was unsure of how to ask, what to ask, she didn't want to destroy the happy mood of her love, her mind raced, unable to formulate a question that wouldn't lead to pain. The former ice queen had never been so nervous before, she was always the one in control, the one to make others nervous.

She rubbed her hands on her legs, her palms sweating, the gesture a poor attempt at ridding herself of her anxiety. Two cups of coffee in dark brown ceramic mugs speckled with white and blue dots were placed down in front of them followed by a mountain of creamer packets. The waitress walked off, going to check on her other tables.

Hermione reached forward, intercepting Fleur's hand as she reached for her mug, taking it lightly in hers, she gave it a gentle squeeze, hunched over the table, she whispered "Relax," before letting go and taking a creamer.

The waitress returned a moment later, setting two full plates down in front of them, "Enjoy!" she cheerfully chirped before walking off once more. Fleur looked at her meal, her eyes nearly popped out of her head, the mess in front of her was too much. She didn't know what all was on the plate, couldn't see half of it. She picked up her fork and began to prod at the pile in front of her.

Hermione laughed at her, already her mouth full of food, she watched as the blonde examined her meal closely. She'd found, under the pile of gravy, that there were eggs, bacon, sausage, a biscuit and diced potatoes, and... was that cheese? How could anyone eat this and not have a heart attack?!

"'Ermione, what is zis exactly?" she questioned, doubting the brunette's judgement (or at least her diet).

"The kitchen sink," replied the smirking brunette. She speared another bit of sausage with her fork and took a bite, eliciting a soft moan as she savored the flavor, her eyes closing.

Fleur, meanwhile, continued to poke at her food, shuffling it around on her plate, mild disgust played across her face. "'Ow can you eat like zis and not die?" There was no way that this was anything other than a heart attack on a plate.

"Just try it, please? For me?" Hermione looked at her with puppy dog eyes, soft brown meeting electric blue, a slight pout, her bottom lip jutted out, quivering. Fleur was powerless to resist, huffing agrily, she stabbed part of her meal, and slowly placed the morsel into her mouth. She expected to gag, to choke on the fat, but it practically melted. It was salty, savory, a light smokey taste. She swallowed that first bite before happily digging into the rest of her plate. She'd definitely underestimated this place.

Hermione nodded her approval before returning back to her plate, the two of them scarfing down their meals as though they'd been starved. The only sounds between them were the clinking of silverware on ceramic, a slight scraping as they cleaned their plates.

Fleur hadn't realized she was that hungry as she leaned back in her chair, stuffed, she looked at the empty plate before her, recalling the mountain that had been there just a few minutes prior. A belch escaped her, breaking their silence, she instantly colored, her hands flying up to cover her mouth.

Hermione looked at her jovially, her eyes sparkled, she held up a finger and let out a louder belch before the two broke down into a fit of laughter. "I told you it was good."

"Oui, you were right," Fleur admitted begrudgingly. "I 'ave eaten too much," she said simply, looking down at her overly stuffed belly.

Hermione took another sip of her coffee, leaning in to the table, contemplating, before asking, "So, tell me about my life here. There's obviously quite a few differences."

Fleur looked up at her, readjusting in the hard wooden chair, her position starting to become uncomfortable. Lost in thought, she laced her fingers together, hands resting on her lap, looking official, too official for the relaxed nature of their relationship. "I will do my best, but I 'ave to admit, we are not ze closest."

A hint of regret seeped into her words, touching on her true thoughts, the realization she could have spent more time with her mate, could have had a very different life, if only. She began to speak once more, "For starters, you are employed by ze Ministry. In ze Department for ze Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

Hermione nodded at that, her eyes betraying her thoughtful nature, "And if we were to have a meeting, I suppose you work for the Ministry as well?"

"Oui, zat is correct," Fleur nodded, matching Hermione's actions, she looked down at the table, her fingers wrapping nimbly around the ceramic handle of the mug before her. She took a sip, hiding her face, hoping the brunette would not notice her nervousness.

Hermione watched her companion closely, scrutinizing her actions, silence between the two of them. She wanted to speak, words at the tip of her tongue, she could taste them as they threatened to spill out. The cuckoo clock above them burst forth first, its annoying chime sounding, breaking the silence, once, twice, three times. Fleur looked up at the clock as it continued on, five, six, seven.

"We must go, before we are actually late," she smiled at the other witch, secretly grateful for their interruption. Hermione nodded and stood, a hand diving into her pocket, she fished out some crumpled up bills, throwing them on the table.

"That should be enough to cover it," she said absentmindedly, offering her arm to the blonde beside her. It took only a moment for Fleur to wrap her arms around the shorter woman's, her inner Veela purring contentedly. She would willingly be seen on the arm of her mate, her love, like a prize to be won, she'd often derided others in a similar state. But now, she understood it, the comfort it offered, a small sanctuary, known only to the two of them.

She let herself be led along, lost in thought, lost in a stolen moment, something that wasn't ever meant to be theirs. They went along until they entered the Ministry's Atrium. Fleur was pulled back to reality, a harsh crash bursting her bubble. She hastily moved to disentangle her limbs from the other woman, putting distance between them, much to her (and her Veela's) displeasure.

Hermione looked over at her questioningly, concern etched into her features, she moved to close the distance between them, but Fleur backed away, maintaining their space. Hurt flashed across her face as she studied how the ice queen was back.

Fleur looked at her, hoping her eyes would convey her apology. A shock of black hair moved in front of them, "Hey 'Mione, Fleur," he said, nodding at both of them.

Hermione looked at the boy, now man, in front of her, a face she never thought she'd see again, his bright green eyes hidden behind oversized black rims, an unmistakable lightning bolt scar on his forehead. "Harry!" she yelled, jumping forward, throwing her arms around his neck tightly. Tears had sprung forth, "I've missed you so much," she choked out, her voice muffled by his shirt.

The lanky boy stood there, stunned, unsure what to do next, he slowly brought one hand up and patted the back of his captor a couple times before trying to push her away, or free himself, whichever. "I've missed you too, but, it's only been a couple days."

She brought a hand up to dry her tears, "Right, right, it just, it felt like much longer." She finished trying to cover up her obvious mistake. Hoping that Fleur would be able to distract the boy from her slip up.

The blonde, sure enough, jumped in, "So, how was Slovenia? Any new leads?"

Harry looked at her seriously, somber, the previous excitement gone, he nodded, "Yeah, best we discuss it in private though," a hand went up, nervously scratching at the back of his neck.

"Right," she agreed, "'Ermione's office is closest, shall we meet zere in, say 10?"

The green eyed savior nodded, "I'll grab my notes and see you there."

"Alright, catch me up," she spoke lowly to the blonde.

Fleur led her towards her department, opening the doors for the brunette as she was already accustomed to doing. Hermione continued walking, ignoring the lingering stares of those at their desks, hushed whispers filling the room, taking the place of the sounds of shuffling papers.

Fleur returned to her side, whispering "This is your first day back from maternity leave." Hermione nodded, she stopped in her tracks and, turning towards the onlookers, "Alright everyone, yes, I'm back, now get back to work!"

* * *

Settled in Hermione's office, the young witch couldn't help but look around. This was her counterpart's private area, a chance to learn about who she was here, to connect with her other self. She walked around the space, examining the bookshelves, stuffed to the brim with texts, volume upon volume of information, brown leather books filled with yellowing pages. Golden scrawls on the spines hinting at the contents within.

Coils of parchment rested lightly atop her desk, next to a long black quill, too ornate to be used, the ink pot next to it nearly full, a bronze ring around its mouth. Her wooden desk, cherry, with a large black mat across the top, her name plate stood proudly in the center, _Deputy Head Hermione Granger._ Her fingers ran lightly across the surface, tracing over the letter etched in, a slight smile upon her face. It was a life that was almost hers, that should have been hers, she thought, but she'd never trade her life with Fleur, she was worth everything.

A matching cabinet sat behind her desk, magical items of various sorts spinning and whirring upon it, dancing about like little ballerinas, they continued on, never stopping. She took her seat in the large leather chair behind the desk, leaning back slightly, she couldn't help but prop her feet up on the desk, something she'd always wanted to do.

The bureaucrats at the Ministry always took themselves too seriously, put too much power in their rank and not in their actions, forgetting where they came from. And here she was one of them, Fleur would laugh if she knew.

Her eyes raised themselves, focusing on the blonde in front of her, sat at a small chair across the desk, wooden arms wrapped around it, the seat was a black leather, studded with gold colored rivets. She winced at how uncomfortable it looked and waved her hand, transfiguring the chair into another chair, exactly like hers, but with maybe a little more padding.

The change around her caught Fleur off guard, she'd been focused on the notepad in front of her, preparing the parchment for Harry's arrival. She looked up at Hermione, eyes wide, the other witch only smirked.

A knock at the door sounded, and Hermione once again waved her hand, opening the door to reveal Harry standing there, an overstuffed folder awkwardly in his hands, papers strewn about, threatening to fall as though they'd just been shoved messily in there.

He stepped forward, dropping his things on Hermione's desk. She dropped her feet to the floor and sat up, looking at the mess that now filled her space. "Sorry," he said sheepishly, taking a seat in the remaining chair, another uncomfortable seat. This time though, she did not move to transfigure the chair as she had done before.

Harry pushed his glasses back up on the bridge of his nose and began to shuffle through the mess of parchment before them. His hair fell into his eyes, he pushed it out of the way and resumed shuffling. Hermione missed the actions of her friend, his calm, uncaring attitude, unkempt appearance, the easy nature he had.

"Ah, here it is," he said, holding up a piece of parchment, "So, as you know, I've been in Slovenia recently, tracking down a smuggling ring. They've been dealing in magical creatures, dangerous ones mostly."

He paused, looking at the other two, studying them closely, they nodded in understanding. "Right, so, I'd been trailing this guy, Hemsworth, thought he was behind it all. That he'd run it out of Metlika, that's where he went to, but, from there, we went to the mountains, and guys, this is big, bigger than we'd thought."

His green orbs met Hermione's brown, an attempt at conveying the seriousness of what he spoke. "He's not the mastermind, if anything, he's rather low level. I think, I think, we've stumbled upon the next wanna be Dark Lord."


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks for the reviews! (And sorry for the delay.) Also, maybe slightly nsfw? (okay, maybe a lot)

* * *

Fleur awoke, an unfamiliar, familiar warmth pressed against her. She pulled the slumbering body closer to her, smiling as she received a disgruntled grumble in response. She nuzzled closer, burying her nose in caramel curls. The morning sun cast long shadows across the room, a golden haze illuminating the sleepy pair. She was content, happy to just exist, to be in the moment. A tired yawn escaped her mouth, she settled back in, letting the dream world claim her once more.

Hermione jolted awake, fear seeping into her mind, breathing hard, she looked around, her surroundings unfamiliar. She reached for her wand out of habit, clutching at her arm. It was bare. Her movements woke the slumbering form next to her.

"What's wrong, m'amour?" The soft, sleep addled voice of Fleur spoke, a raspy whisper this early. She tenderly reached out, placing a hand on Hermione's shoulder, trying to ground her back to reality.

Hermione fell into the muscular body of her (not hers, she reminded herself) lover, burying her face in the crook of Fleur's neck. A muffled sentence escaped causing laughter to erupt from her companion, "I thought it was all a dream."

"So, you dream about me often zen?" She teased, enjoying seeing her mate become flustered.

"N-no," a not so convincing rebuttal could be heard, barely, over musical laughter. Doubling down, she continued, trying to believe it herself, "I just didn't think there was any way it could all be real."

"So, you are saying zat I am ze woman of your dreams even in your ozer world?" Fleur teased playfully, "I am sure zat Monsieur Weasley will be zrilled to 'ear zat." Her last comment earned her a gentle smack, given by a limp wrist, as her mate twisted from her arms.

"Fleur!" she'd cried, mock offense upon her delicate features. "I can't believe you!"

Fleur reclined back, crossing her arms behind her head, trying to act as nonchalant as possible, "It is not surprising, my Veela blood is not too diluted." A cocky grin graced her features, the look completed with a wink.

Hermione scoffed, her eyes rolling, before reaching for her pillow, ready to use it to wipe the smirk off of Fleur's face. A firm grip on the feather filled fabric, she swung, smacking the conceited blonde square across the face, a resounding 'thump' filling the space.

The pillow fell away, revealing a disheveled Veela, fake outrage detailing her features, wisps of straw colored hair falling across her face, joviality glinting in her eyes despite the look she tried to maintain. She pounced forward, pushing the smaller woman back into the mattress, eliciting a small shriek as she caught her off guard. Fleur pinned her down, sitting across her middle. She tickled the poor woman relentlessly. Hermione laughing, until she cried, arms waving wildly, she tried to free herself. But Fleur was unwilling to ease up, grabbing hold of Hermione's wrists, she pinned them above her head, their bodies pressed together. She didn't realize their proximity until it was too late, the tension between them building.

Fleur swallowed nervously, averting her eyes, she released Hermione, putting distance between them as quickly as she could, she didn't notice the hurt that flashed through amber eyes.

Changing the topic, she asked quickly, "So, we can get started on finding a way to get you back 'ome today, if you'd like?" She added the last bit, hoping it would sound less like she was pushing for her 'not mate' to leave. She truly wanted to spend time with the other woman, enjoying the ease she possessed. Or maybe she'd just missed spending time with another, not focused on a lost war, on the past, on setting things right.

She'd had to keep reminding herself that the woman in front of her, an exact copy of her mate, was not actually her mate, not the woman she'd spent so many years with, the woman she'd nursed back to health and fought alongside, who she'd built her life with. They were not the same, their experiences making them different women who shared a name, who shared an appearance.

Receiving no answer, she turned back, Hermione looked conflicted, eyes unfocused, her lip between her teeth. A moment of silence before she spoke, "Uh, actually, if it's not a problem, I'd um, like to stay here for a bit. It's been ages since I've had a proper holiday, what with the baby and Ron hating to travel and all, that is, if it's no trouble for you." She rambled the more she spoke, mentally cursing herself for saying anything at all, it had been so clear a moment ago that Fleur had wanted her gone, and why wouldn't she? It was hardly a stretch to think that she'd of course want her wife back, not some doppelganger. But it was too late, she'd only gone and opened her mouth, the request was out there now and she'd have to prepare for rejection.

Fleur nodded, unable to deny her love, "Yeah, yeah, anyzing you want. Zis is your 'ome as well." The taller woman clapped her hands together suddenly, "I am going to go take a shower and zen, we can decide what we are going to do today."

She fled the room, it wasn't her bravest moment by any means, but she needed space, time, she needed to think. Her mind was a mess and her heart wasn't any better. She hoped that the steamy water would clear her mind, offering her sanctuary from her inner conflict.

Mental images of her Hermione filled her head, laughing at her and the situation she found herself in. The normally well-put-together (reformed) ice queen unable to handle a 'moment' between her and her mate. She knew the other woman would find it hilarious if she only knew what was happening now. Her sweating palms going unnoticed under the scalding spray, she pulled her hair back, soaking light blonde locks, turning them a dark honey. Her pale skin reddening under the pounding stream. She let out a sigh, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders, now slumping slightly. Fleur stayed there until the water ran cold, goosebumps dotting her porcelain skin. She left the safety of the shower, not yet ready to face these new challenges.

* * *

Hermione sat at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of coffee, yellowed with creamer, she watched as streaks of white circled within the dark beverage, mixing as she turned the cup in her hands. The scraping of ceramic on marble the only sound to be heard other than the drumming of the shower. Finally, the water stopped, causing her to look up, breaking her reverie.

She slurped up some coffee noisily. It was simple, unrefined, it was her. Hermione placed the mug back on the table as Fleur walked in, a powder blue silk robe tied around her body, a white cotton towel in her hands. She was still towelling her hair dry, a veritable mess atop her head. Hermione couldn't help but think it made her mate (she still couldn't get used to that) more attractive, if that was even possible.

She did her best to appear as unbothered by the blonde's appearance as possible, but chocolate eyes roamed over the statuesque form before her, drinking in every detail. "I was thinking," she cleared her throat, her voice had come out too high and squeaky, before starting again, "erm, I was thinking, maybe today you could show me around the area?"

Fleur turned to look at her, a curious look on her face, she continued to speak, "I realized, of course, I don't even know where I am, so I won't be much help in deciding what to do."

The Frenchwoman nodded her agreement, "I 'ad needed to do some shopping today anyways, I'll take you to ze village."

* * *

Minutes later, the two women were dressed and ready to go. This Fleur dressed much more practically Hermione mused to herself, her pencil skirts, lace tops and much too high heels were replaced with something much more comfortable, though still fashionable. She wore a black band t-shirt, it was fitted, hugging her curves nicely, yellow ink across the front advertised the band, _Nirvana_ scribbled just above a smiley face. The edges were frayed and the ink was faded, it was obviously a favorite of hers. Light blue skinny jeans and knee high boots completed the ensemble, no heels in sight, Fleur looked to be an actual rocker with a backpack slung across a shoulder.

She winked at Hermione, her tongue poking out between her teeth when she noticed the younger woman staring. "You like?" she asked, spreading her arms and giving a quick twirl, showing off her body.

Hermione found herself nodding in approval, her eyes raking over the angel in front of her, and... where were these thoughts coming from? She questioned herself, the confusion palpable, she hoped the blonde wouldn't notice. She became rather self conscious however, feeling over dressed as she realized that she had found a pair of flats, black slacks and a white button up. She'd attempted to control her wild mane, straightening it out with a few spells she'd become rather proficient at. Her arms wrapped around her stomach nervously, the clothes didn't fit quite right and she worried she'd look sloppy and over dressed.

Fleur closed the distance between them, taking the brunette's hand in her own, pulling it away from her shy attempts at covering herself more, "You look good, nobody will notice," she offered tenderly, a kind smile on her face. She pulled the small woman towards the door, ushering her out into the bright sunlight. The tension from earlier seemingly vanished, they made their way towards the village center.

Hermione's eyes eagerly drank in their surroundings, the gravel crunching beneath their feet as they walked down the path. Their house sat at the top of a hill, overlooking the small village below. The path was narrow, barely wide enough for a small car, grass growing between the ruts left behind. Ivy clung to stone walls, bushes at the top providing light shade. Iron gates breaking the line of the wall every so often, guarding the entrance to another house, large and imposing, hidden away from the world unless one truly sought it out. Purple flowers dotted the green mass here and there. And on the other side, a view of the town from above. Houses lined the streets, one after the other, twisting and turning as the streets did. Winding roads of cobblestone, meandering along, making their way to the town square, a small market set up there. Rainbow tents of all colors sat there on display, hiding tables filled with various wares below.

She was too distracted to realize that she was still holding onto Fleur's hand. The duo walked on, making their way towards the square, small businesses popping up around them, beginning to outnumber the houses signaling that they'd entered the commercial district. A few small cafes lined the street they were currently on, tables sitting outside on the sidewalk, a couple canopies in forest green or faded red with white cursive on them hung above a doorway. She studied each, wondering whether any of them were good, if she should suggest getting lunch at one of them with Fleur, or if the blonde would send her off on her own, thoughts of that morning leaving the analytical woman wondering. Questioning, really, she'd never been interested in another woman.

Not that she'd ever had a problem with it, of course not, she'd just never thought of herself that way. Never even kissed another woman, and here she was, thrust into a world in which she was married to a woman. That meant she'd not only kissed another woman but, she'd slept with one, and not in a platonic sort of way either. Her mind froze at that realization. She'd (well, not her, but her other self) had actually had sex with Fleur, and wow, she'd never even really thought the other woman would be interested in her. And she'd obviously enjoyed it or they wouldn't be married.

"Stop zinking so 'ard," Fleur deadpanned, her voice leaving no room for argument, "you are on 'oliday." She reprimanded her companion, pulling her back to the present.

"You're right, there's another time for that," Hermione answered, faking a smile in Fleur's direction, a slight blush, embarrassment at being caught in her thoughts, before she looked about. "So, where are we?" she asked, unable to place her surroundings, it certainly wasn't a town she knew.

"We are in Spain, near ze French border, ze people 'ere keep to zemselves so we are not in danger." She paused a moment, "Zough, I am not sure you would be able to communicate wiz zem. Zey speak mostly Catalan 'ere."

Hermione nodded, she had a reason to stay with Fleur now. A chance to study the blonde, to figure herself out. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad here after all.

* * *

They arrived at the small outdoor market, blending in with the crowd of muggles, wandering through aimlessly, stopping to examine various items. The fruit all looked so vibrant, its color clear and radiant, a brightness not typically found in produce at home. She supposed it was due to the proximity to tropical weather. Sweet scents of melons mixed with the tangy scents of pineapples, swirling about, filling the air she breathed.

Hermione sighed contentedly, calm despite the bustle of the market around them, various voices calling out, advertising their wares, the gentle chatter of the crowd surrounding them. For a moment, she forgot about returning home, the thought that she could get used to being here, with Fleur crossing through her mind.

Speaking of, she looked around, noting that the woman had left her side, she searched for the familiar figure, anxiety rising in her chest. But it was soon disbursed, the radiant woman stood out among the crowd, even with her attempts at blending in. She was talking to an older woman, seated next to a table of fruits, a paper fan in her hand, she waved it lazily as she spoke. Hermione thought she looked like Professor Sprout, but her rational mind said there was no way it could be her, still though, she approached the pair, preparing for the least likely to happen.

The older woman smiled at her, friendly but not too familiar, she nodded a greeting towards the newcomer before returning to her conversation with Fleur. Hermione stood there, listening to what they said, but unable to understand any of it. An apprehensive smile plastered across her face, she began to examine the produce, feeling awkward eavesdropping on a conversation she couldn't even interpret. The brunette was pulled from her examinations when suddenly, she could understand what was happening around her, "See anyzing you like?"

Startled, Hermione jumped slightly, the voice closer than she had expected. Fleur was practically pressed up against her, her warm breath tickling Hermione's ear. How had the woman gotten so close without her notice? The market wasn't even that crowded that it was necessary to be that close, but still, she didn't back away. She nodded, "Yeah, it all looks good, honestly."

"I zink you will like ze watermelon ze best," Fleur responded, reaching for a small melon, she placed it in her bag and handed over some bills to the woman. She spoke again, Hermione assumed thanking the woman, before taking her hand and pulling her to the next booth. The contact was comforting, she hadn't even realized that she'd missed it.

* * *

They'd passed their day, wandering about the market, stopping at every table, visiting a few stores, exploring the small town. Hermione had enjoyed the feeling of freedom she felt, not realizing in her time with Ron just how restricted she'd been, the limitations she'd placed. Fleur had followed along, maintaining a polite distance, but close enough that Hermione did not feel alone in an unfamiliar area. She'd translated as needed and acted as a go-between allowing Hermione to be the clueless tourist.

She was startled however, when Fleur placed a hand gently at the small of her back, surprisingly intimate considering, "Shall we return 'ome?" It was a suggestion rather than a request, timid and shy, opposite the normally confident woman that stood next to her. "I can make us a late lunch?" She offered, eyes cast downward, she glanced up only when Hermione responded, her face lighting up as Hermione accepted, her fingers entwining with Fleur's, taking her hand firmly in her own.

Fleur led the way back home, her blue eyes shining in excitement, pulling Hermione along like an eager child who was promised ice cream. The brunette suppressed a laugh, her free hand covering her mouth as the image of a tiny Fleur invaded her mind, unable to apparate and yet wanting what was promised. She allowed herself to be pulled along, doing her best to keep up. Fleur, meanwhile, had not stopped planning lunch. Her mind ran through what they currently had, what she had bought that day, and came to a screeching halt, panic creeping up slightly, that she did not know if this Hermione and _her_ Hermione had the same tastes.

_Her_ Hermione would eat anything and everything, an almost insatiable appetite, unconcerned with the health benefits of a specific food as long as it tasted good. And, she wondered, if this Hermione was the same or if she was different due to different experiences. Her question was carried by the breeze, breaking the silence between them, "Is zere anything zat you do not like?"

"As long as it's not too unhealthy, I'll eat it." She paused for a second, then added, "I'm sure I'd like anything you make though."

And Fleur blushed, her cheeks turning a light pink, not from exertion, but from the confidence this woman had in her. She nodded and returned to pulling the petite witch behind her, a new found vigor in her steps.

Her focus would soon be on cooking them a lunch that may have been closer to a dinner. She'd wanted to show off, to impress her mate, a mate she did not need to impress, a wife that was already hers. She'd won, but that didn't change the stakes, it felt as though she had to win her again, had to prove herself, and instill confidence in the decision made by _her _Hermione. Clanking pans, sizzling sides, the bubbling of boiling water and thumping of a knife on the cutting board filled the kitchen. A storm of blonde, of waving arms, flashes of flames rising up filled the open space, making it seem small, cramped, fuller than it was.

She'd shooed Hermione from the kitchen, wanting the fare to be a surprise, she wasn't giving any hints, her nerves vibrating, boucning back and forth sending jolts of electricity between her joints. She whispered to herself, muted chastisements and curses, reciting the steps of the recipe, unwritten, passed through the generations, a family secret, spoken in her native tongue as she worked with confidence, sure in her motions frantic as they appeared.

A white ceramic plate was set down in front of her, its contents steaming, a sensual aroma wafting up, her mouth began to water as her eyes drank in the sight before them. It was simple, it was complex, a symphony of flavors, hidden in plain sight, waiting to be revealed. Running water, a glass of wine being poured, white, the perfect compliment to the chicken resting upon her plate.

"I thought you said this was lunch not dinner?" Hermione queried, looking up at the blonde before her, sweaty tendrils plastered to her forehead, disheveled and dotted in spots of sauce, seasoning, of flour and grease.

A sheepish grin spread upon rosy cheeks, her head ducking, "I may 'ave gotten carried away," she spoke, barely above a whisper, the sound muffled in her chest, words blending, hurried and rushed. Hermione picked up her glass of wine, a small sip, tasting the sweetness, dry and lingering upon her lips, cooled and relaxing, hiding her smile as thoughts crossed her mind, _how adorable she looked when she was flustered._ The thought shocking the supposedly straight, married brunette, a thought she shouldn't have, had come unbidden.

Averting her eyes, she picked up her fork and knife. Delicately, she cut into the chicken on her plate, it was tender, juicy, she took a bite. The zest of the lemon mixed with the spice of the pepper, the savory of the basil and thyme, a hint of garlic, smokey and full-bodied, it melted like butter in her mouth, beckoning forth a soft moan. Her eyes closed as she took the next bite, concealing the redness bleeding forth through alabaster skin. Fleur focused intently on the plate in front of her, cursing her body for reacting dangerously to that sound. Her eyes dilating, her Veela screaming, pushing her forward, urging her on, she was _hers_, her fingers trembled, sweat beads speckled her skin, glistening slightly, this time for another reason. The voice in her head getting louder, pushing more, unnoticed to her mate, the war that was happening just before her.

She could feel her control slipping just as Hermione finished her meal, a satisfied look on her face, her cutlery placed upon the plate, a slight clink and scrape. Long, slender fingers wrapped around the wine glass as she took another sip, licking her lips afterwards, it was only then that she finally drank in the sight of the other woman, straining with exertion. Her brow furrowed in confusion, but she decided not to comment, instead she rose, taking her plate and glass in hand and made her way into the kitchen.

She would give Fleur some privacy, some space, time to regain herself, she wasn't sure what was going on with the blonde, but it wasn't her place to ask. She wasn't actually her mate, just... shared most (all) of her traits. Her intent was to busy herself in the kitchen, at least, that was what she had hoped.

Fleur inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of her mate as she walked by, her eyes drifting shut. Fingers curling into fists, digging crescents into her palms, she held her breath.

Skin pressed against skin, slim fingers winding through honey tresses, sweet and sensual, flowers and rain, cool and refreshing, Fleur lost herself. She pulled back brown curls, revealing porcelain skin, meeting with ruby lips, she pressed a tender kiss.

The body beneath her tensed, a sharp gasp, as she licked at the soft skin below. Twisting and turning, her connection was broken, deep brown eyes now meeting her golden ones, pupils blown wide. Hands came to rest upon her shoulders, keeping her at bay despite their contact. A blush upon her mate's cheeks, Hermione's eyes drifted down, coming to rest on her lips, wet with want. A pink tongue darted out, teasing Fleur, licking her lips, need filling her. Her lips parted, but she made no sound.

A moment's hesitation, eyes searching, before she dove forward, capturing Fleur's lips upon her own. Lips parted further, tongues battling for dominance as hands roamed freely over the other. Their limbs tangled, soft moans could be heard, unaware as to who they came from, their actions becoming more frantic, more needy.

Suddenly, there was too much clothing between them, on them, constricting them, too tight and consuming, they needed urgently, desperately, to remove it, hands sliding under shirts. Hermione had never felt so much need, so much want for another, a fire alight low in her belly. Her skin burned with Fleur's touch, her caress light, nails feeling like needles, a prickling, tingling trail left behind.

Fleur nipped lightly at her neck, lifting her up onto the counter behind them. Legs wrapped tightly around the blonde as her head fell back, giving further access. She felt herself coming undone with every touch, every lick, every bite, the older witch knew her so well, knew just what to do.

Her body shuddered as she dissolved, melting under sure ministrations, her nails digging into Fleur's back, leaving angry, red lines, trailing down as she fell apart, calling out, "Fleur!" she went limp. Panting hard, her head resting upon a firm shoulder, supported fully by her mate, she tried to catch her breath.

Lithe fingers ran through her curls, gently stroking as she recovered, her breathing beginning to even out, she placed a tender kiss upon crimson lips, feeling electricity spark between them once more. Her cheeks flushed, though she didn't know if it was from exertion or from the images that now filled her mind.

Their foreheads rested against each other, their eyes shut, just enjoying, feeling the breath of the other on their skin, a light "That was amazing," filled the silence, breaking it as the moment passed. She'd wanted to say more, to say otherwise, but her mind told her it was too soon, yes, she was Fleur's mate, but she barely knew her, this version of her, the version that her life here was committed to. Her heart screaming out, declarations of love that would go unsaid, shining behind bright eyes. Her thumb traced the outline of Fleur's lips, her own parted slightly before they crashed together again, brought forth like magnets, she refused to let go, to break this connection.

Emotions brimming, filling and running over, realizations that Fleur didn't belong to her, that she was married to Ron, cascading, pushing her over the edge. Sadness filtered through, her eyes watering, she continued to kiss the blonde, feeling guilty, wanting to feel that euphoria again. She sobbed through a kiss, her body shaking again, a less pleasant feeling this time, their kisses became damp, wet with tears.

Fleur wrapped her arms around the brunette, tightly, pulling her as close as she could, the petite woman, shrinking in on her self, becoming smaller yet, curled up in the arms of a lover that wasn't hers.

She didn't need to ask, didn't need the confirmation, she knew. They'd gone to far, crossed too many lines, boundaries that shouldn't have been crossed. Her eyes had returned to normal, deep blue, dark and stormy like the ocean. She too was conflicted, the Veela within purring happily at how easily her mate had surrendered. At how willing she was to forget _him_. She'd taken what was hers, he'd never be able to satisfy her now, not like she had. It preened, prideful at what had transpired, ignoring the hurt that it had caused.

Fleur wanted to regret, but she couldn't, wouldn't ever regret loving her mate as she did. Still, she cursed the beast within her, cursed her lack of control, of how easily she'd been overcome with desire. She'd pick up the pieces, her penance for betraying her mate, for causing the pain she felt, her guilt over her actions apparent.

She hadn't wanted to, meant to push, to lose herself. But the brunette had responded, eagerly, filled with want, she'd returned affections and pushed her further, and she continued to kiss her, tenderly, filled with love, hidden behind the tears of guilt.

"I love you," the words slipped out, barely a whisper, sounding foreign even to her own ears. She didn't expect a response.

A gasp, a choked sob, Hermione pressed their lips together, firmer, forceful, the lazy ease between them vanishing. She didn't want to think about it, not now, not what it could mean, not wanting to question who it was that the older woman was saying them to.

Strong arms lifted her from the counter, her legs squeezing tighter, she was carried up the stairs and towards their room. She buried herself deeper into the Frenchwoman, falling into a not unpleasant slumber, their limbs tangled together.


	7. Chapter 7

Here we go! Time to see what comes of this new development! Sorry it's been so long, but hopefully more frequent updates (its nanowrimo time y'all). Though, I've got to balance this with school now too so, there's that.

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Hermione leaned forward, over her desk, her eyes hard, cold, her jaw set. She laced her fingers and asked quietly, her tone betraying her seriousness, "Are you sure?"

Harry nodded, her shaggy brown hair falling into his face, obscuring his eyes slightly. He brushed it out of the way, looking rather boyish, a stark contrast to the mood contained within the room. It reminded her of her school days, back before everything fell apart.

She nodded stiffly, reaching for a roll of parchment and a pen, she detested quills and hoped her alter ego did as well. A gold tipped fountain pen rested in the drawer of her desk, she smiled slightly, feeling a minor relief from that similarity. She smoothed out the parchment on her desk and looked up at Harry expectantly, "Tell me everything you know."

She spoke in hushed tones as though they might be overheard in the privacy of her office, an office that had been spelled to be soundproof whenever the door was shut. Her office, in the middle of the Ministry, none of them would be stupid enough to show up there, especially if they weren't yet discovered. But years of paranoia, years of betrayal, of hiding and running, of never knowing who was listening at any moment and unable to trust had taught her otherwise.

Hermione took notes as Harry spoke, the side of her left hand becoming stained with ink as the letter smeared upon the parchment, leaving fine trails as she went. She wasn't sure what was relevant or what was actually important yet, so she wrote everything he had gathered and hoped his notes were good enough. She'd recalled that the Harry in her world had a penchant for taking short cuts, finding the easy way out at every opportunity, unwilling to put in large amounts of effort. Maybe (hopefully) that was different here, or at the very least, he'd matured, grown out of old habits. Otherwise, she feared the worst.

She stared down at the messy parchment before her, Harry had left to go finish his debriefing before enjoying some much needed time off. He'd been undercover for the past couple weeks and would be returning soon. And, if he was correct in his assumptions, he'd be there for quite some time.

She sighed, twirling her pen between her fingers absentmindedly, unaware that sapphire eyes were fixed upon her, studying her every movement. She leaned back in her chair, her back beginning to cramp when she finally looked up, seeing the blonde staring intently.

"What?" she asked, innocently, a raised eyebrow directed at the other witch. She hadn't moved from her spot despite their "meeting" being finished. She hadn't forced the Frenchwoman to leave, her presence providing comfort, a familiarity that she needed now.

"Nozing," she murmured, shaking her head slightly, her blue eyes drifted back down the the notepad on her lap, her fingers laced and hands resting on the lined page.

"Tell me," Hermione prodded gently, placing her pen to the side, leaning into the dark wood of the desk, her eyes alight with interest.

"It iz really nozing at all," the blonde insisted, her voice trailing off as she spoke, barely above a whisper. Her eyes staring intently ahead, unfocused on the notepad. The end of her quill brushed her lips lightly, tickling the soft skin, her pink tongue darted out, whetting dry skin as her quill resumed scratching at the tan parchment, irregular strokes grazing the smooth surface.

She had dismissed the subject, but Hermione continued to watch her. She spoke with confidence, "I know I haven't known you long, but I know you better than that," a smirk played upon her features as the quill stilled between nimble fingers, resting just above the surface, azure eyes not yet meeting honeyed brown, "I've learned over the years, it's never nothing with you." A hint of teasing filled her voice, rounding the sounds, she picked up her pen and began writing again, not pushing any further.

Fleur would tell her when she was ready. She began silently counting, "Three... two... one." The blonde spoke on cue. "You're using the wrong hand."

Hermione looked at her with a raised eyebrow, her pen still in hand, "hm?"

"'Ere you are right handed, not left," she chastised, almost annoyed at having to explain her statement as though it wasn't obvious.

"Ah," the brunette smiled, quickly switching hands, the pen looking awkward and unnatural in its placement, her elegant scrawl turning to messy scribbles as she attempted to continue on in her notes. "Nope, can't do it. Guess you'll just have to deal with the radically different left handed Hermione instead," she winked at the blonde, replacing the tool in her hand and returning to work.

An easy silence fell between them, broken only by the occasional sigh and scratching of parchment or flipping of pages. Fleur had not bothered to leave the room yet and Hermione was not in any rush to part from her. After another bit of shuffling from the other woman broke Hermione's thoughts however, she paused, watching as she sat, hunched over her notepad, long blonde locks framing the pages, intent on her work but looking cramped and uncomfortable.

"You know, you don't have to stay over there," she started, causing the older witch to jump slightly as she was pulled from her work, surprise evident on her face, she nodded and moved to put away her things.

"No-no, you don't have to leave, that's not what I meant. What I meant was, you could come over here," she gestured to the space next to her, now free of papers, "Unless, you have somewhere to be, that is," she quickly corrected, mentally facepalming, "you don't have to if you don't want to." She finished weakly, her earlier confidence fading, feeling like she was barking out orders instead.

The blonde assuaged her nerves, sliding closer, placing her pad on the desk, breathing in the soft scent of soap and eucalyptus, her veela purring contently at their proximity. She couldn't explain the pull she felt towards the other woman, the feeling still so unfamiliar. A voice in the night, whispering to her, urging her closer, Icarus flying towards the sun, unafraid of falling. But the fall is never the problem, it's the sudden stop. She knew her veela wouldn't allow her to stop, not now that she had started. Not with her mate.

She looked up, blue orbs studying the hunched over figure of her mate, the word repeating itself, filling her mind, dominating her thoughts, _"mate, mate, mate," _her mind droned on, her nerves buzzing, filled with excitement, anticipation, she wanted- needed more.

Hermione looked up, feeling eyes upon her, that knowing look firmly in place, taunting, teasing. A blush spread upon alabaster cheeks, embarrassment at being caught as Fleur quickly looked down, pretending to work. Hermione said nothing, returning to her work, feeling like a schoolgirl once again. Her mind drifting back to the beginning of their relationship, remembering Fleur's behavior, how erratic she became.

A sly smile spread across her delicate features as the memory resurfaced.

_Hermione snuck into the Room of Requirement just after midnight, Harry's cloak pulled tightly around her shoulders. She breathed a sigh of relief as the door closed behind her and she freed herself from her invisible prison once more. She was safe, in her sanctuary, for just a few hours._

_The fire roared in the marble hearth before her, filling the room with warmth and casting long shadows on the walls. She smiled seeing that someone was already there waiting for her, seated upon the couch, head buried in a book like usual. She hadn't stirred at the sound of Hermione's arrival, probably hadn't even heard her come in the young Gryffindor reasoned. A devilish smirk spread across her face as she encircled herself in the invisibility cloak once more and silently padded her way across the room._

_She approached Fleur as quietly as she could, nervous excited energy radiating from her, she had to resist running to her as she got closer. Standing behind her, she reached out, covering the blonde's eyes, "Guess who?" she queried, knowing the blonde would know it was her, the only other person to know she was here. But the Frenchwoman played along, making a couple improper guesses, teasing her before insisting that she would only know the answer with a kiss._

_Hermione leaned down, capturing soft pink skin with her own reddened, feeling the need for more growing in the pit of her stomach. Strong arms wrapped around her torso and she let out a squeal of surprise as she was pulled over the back of the couch. Her back hitting soft pillows, she reached up to pull Fleur back to her but the blonde had other ideas. She quickly changed course and began fighting to put distance between them as the older witch began to tickle her, her movements uncoordinated as she fought for breath amidst bursts of laughter, attempting to beg for mercy._

_Her head laid in the Veela's lap, eyes shining with mirth, she managed to capture the hands of her tormentor, holding them tight she felt the air in the room change, suddenly becoming serious as their eyes locked. Their game had turned tender, intimacy dominating the space, she slowly released a hand. Delicate fingers reached up, cupping her cheek, the pad of Fleur's thumb lightly stroking the tender skin below, electricity flowing around them._

_"What are we doing?" she queried, her usually confident voice now small, barely audible._

_The unspoken question hung between them, "What am I to you?" The Beauxbatons champion had never looked so small, even fighting the dragon she had been filled with courage, with confidence, but she had become a mouse in front of Hermione, her eyes asking for reassurance._

_Hermione spoke slowly, carefully, choosing her words wisely, "I wouldn't be breaking the rules if you weren't worth it." Hoping the Frenchwoman understood, knew her well enough to know their weight._

_The wide smile that followed, the glow emanating from her companion told her she did. Their lips crashed together filled with want, with need, and a new sense of urgency behind them._

_Following that night the blonde had seemed unable to take her eyes off the young brunette. Nervous glances, shy touches, stolen moments in the shadows. Their eyes would meet from across the Great Hall and Fleur would blush and look away, returning back to conversing with her friends, feigning interest in what they spoke of. Words blending into the chatter around them, but her eyes would drift back a moment later. Their shared secret._

Sadness filled her chest, pooling around her heart, wrapping tight and squeezing it as she longed for her Fleur. Her eyes drifted shut for a moment as she tried to compose herself, it hadn't been long, only a day, they'd been apart for longer in the past, but this time was different, this time, she didn't know if she'd ever be able to return.

A slight shake of her head and she opened her deep brown eyes, filled with emotion, there was work to do and she'd need to focus. She read over the notes she had once again, but unfortunately there wasn't much. Harry had said he'd been following him- Aloysius Hemsworth- for quite some time, he was a smuggler of magical creatures- that's how she'd become involved in this. But if he was right, there was something much more sinister going on, a bigger threat than black market dragon eggs.

They'd thought he was higher up, never having been caught with anything illegal but traveling to multiple areas, they'd assumed he brokered the arrangements, now she wondered if that was just a cover for his real activities. How deep did this go?

She let out an exasperated sigh and ran a hand through long brown curls, her fingers tangling in her hair, her pen tapped impatiently on the parchment. Her actions broke Fleur free of her thoughts, noticing the tension beginning to fill the room, the blonde offered her a slight smile, "Come, let us take a brief walk."

She stood, not waiting for an answer, the points of her heels clicking on the hard floor, her hips swaying as she walked. Her movements slightly exaggerated, drawing chocolate eyes further downward. Her Veela preening as she felt her mate's eyes upon her. She paused at the door, her hand resting on the handle, looking over her shoulder, "Coming?" A devilish glint filled her eyes, a plan brewing just below the surface.

Hermione nodded, scrambling to get up from her desk, practically tripping over her own two feet as she stood, her thighs banging on the wood surface that she was hunched over as the chair refused to move from its spot, its wheels slowed by the rug beneath. She breathed out a curse as she roughly pushed it back, freeing herself from her prison. Fleur was attempting to stifle her laugh at the uncoordinated movements of the other woman, earning herself a cheeky glare.

Laughter broke free from the blonde at that, the shorter woman resembling an angry poodle at that moment. Hermione rolled her eyes, "Don't you have some work to be doing?"

Faking hurt, she placed a hand, fingers splayed wide, across her chest, "Tired of me already? My, 'ow 'ave you survived this long?" she teased. Then in a more serious voice, she whispered conspiratorially, "My boss 'as not given me any work to do," followed by a wink before she put more space between them, her hands clasped innocently in front of her as she walked along.

Hermione had not moved from her spot, still trying to process what it was Fleur had said, she knew her companion had meant something by it, but... and then realization dawned on her, ideas filling her mind and she rushed to catch up to Fleur now a good distance ahead of her.

How had she not realized that sooner? It was right there, and yet she'd somehow missed it. But she needed to be sure, a cautious question, quiet, "Am I?"

Fleur tried to hide her smile, only offering a subtle nod in affirmation, she was enjoying knowing things that Hermione didn't. She wondered what the other woman would do with that new information, if she would find enjoyment in that new dynamic. An answer would be given sooner than she expected, a tinge of pink spreading on the brunette's face was all the confirmation she would need. Her Veela roared to life within her, new feelings stirring within her, she took a deep breath, trying to regain control of herself.

A firm hand grabbed her own, "Come on, let's go," it may have been her imagination, but she grabbed onto the words, trying to ground herself as the world began to spin around her. She allowed herself to be pulled along, stumbling as she went, a pop and she felt her insides twist, the ground falling away beneath her only to reappear a moment later. Strong arms wrapped around her body, pulling her closer as the world continued to spin.

Breathing in, she smelled fresh grass, clean cotton and something spicy, cinnamon maybe? She nuzzled closer, feeling that she was too far away. She inhaled deeply, trying to draw in as much of that scent as she could, still unable to identify it, it wasn't repulsive, faint, just barely a hint of it, something she could easily miss, but it was there. Grounding her, she clung to it, her saving grace, the world began to slow.

Hermione did not let go however, only loosening her grip on the older woman when she began to shift, pulling away slightly, "Better now?" she queried, concern piercing through honeyed orbs.

Fleur nodded, unsure if she trusted herself to speak. She had no words to explain what had happened, so many new feelings and sensations had occurred in the past day, she felt like she was losing control. But the way her mate had reacted, had known what to do, she could only conclude that it had happened before, she just didn't know _what_ had happened.

Leather clad arms slid down her shoulders, coming to a rest on her lower back, their position unusually intimate considering that they had little contact despite the familial relation, only having quick hugs here and there but very infrequent, and now they had shared each others' touch more in one day than in the previous eight years. They stayed, breathing in each other, Fleur wanting to reach out, just another couple inches and she could capture soft skin in her own, could finally taste her mate.

Her Veela urging her on, her mind reiterating that she was married, they both were married. Her eyes drifted shut and gathering all her courage, she pulled herself out of her mate's embrace. A shiver ran down her spine as she instantly longed for her touch once more, she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to fill that hole.

Silence fell between them, neither woman sure of what to do next, of how far they could go. Fleur felt a war raging inside, her Veela pushing for more, telling her to take what was hers, to finally claim her mate. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me," she tried to apologize, her head hung low, eyes cast towards the ground.

Hermione started to reach towards her again, her hand stopping before she made contact with her bicep, thinking better of her, her fingers curled before her hand dropped back to her side. "No, don't apologize, it's my fault," their eyes met before Hermione looked away, unable to look at her any longer.

"I shouldn't have woken your Veela like that, you weren't taught how to handle it."

"Don't apologize for zat, 'aving a mate is somezing very special, I am glad you are mine." Her smile was genuine though it did not quite reach her eyes, a sadness hung in them, deepening the blue of her irises. Hermione wanted to pull her closer, to kiss away the sadness of her mate, but she wouldn't dare, couldn't, not here, this wasn't her world, there would be consequences she wouldn't have to face.

It wasn't her choice to make, anything more would have to be up to the quarter Veela before her who was currently struggling with controlling her newly awakened creature blood. This would be a new experience for the both of them, when Fleur's blood had awakened before, she had been guided through it by the clan, Hermione had not been present for the majority of it- having still been a student.

She had heard some stories, but the Veela were secretive, not even their mates had much knowledge of their ways. She had read bits and pieces, censored of course, in letters she received. She doubted just how truthful Fleur had been, not wanting to worry the young Gryffindor who had more important things to focus on. That whole ordeal with the High Inquisitor had taken much of her time that year. She shuddered just thinking about it, that horrible toad of a woman.

"We should head back I think," her thumb pointing over her shoulder while she spoke. She turned to head back to the street, the bustling of people, honking of horns, all silent, falling to the wayside in their own little bubble. The alleyway she stood in was lined with graffiti, trash strewn about, a couple of dumpsters with their lids propped open. The gravel crunched under her feet as she walked, listening intently for Fleur's steps to follow her own. When they didn't she turned back, "You coming?" already leaving her lips as she saw Fleur's eyes roll back into her head and her body go limp, swaying to the left slightly as she fell.

Hermione barely had time to react, casting a wandless spell to hold the lifeless body of her mate frozen mid-fall. She rushed to her side, pulling her back into her arms, supporting her weight, panic filled her mind. She looked about, trying to find their attacker, her mind racing, did they find her? Where are they? How did she not see anyone appear?

She pulled her wand out, trying her best to locate the source of the danger and protect her mate. Her eyes scanned the deserted alleyway as she called out, "Show yourself, coward!" She cast a couple of spells, trying to counter any protections they could be using, but it was to no avail.

Upon finding nothing, her mind began to calm slightly, only for a moment, they were safe, at least from any outside dangers. But Fleur, still limp in her arms, caused a new bout of panic. She apparated them both to St. Mungo's, hoping they could provide some help.

She was quickly separated from the unconscious woman, mediwitches running to their side upon her arrival. The blonde was carried to a nearby room by a male nurse while a female, slightly older, her tan skin wrinkled with years of stress, her dirty blonde hair pulled into a tight bun, questioned her.

Hermione answered the questions as best she could, though she felt there wasn't much information, she didn't know what had happened, her mind continued to race, nervous energy coursing through her veins, she ran her fingers through her hair, tangling them in her curls, a long ago habit, a movement that showed her lack of control in the moment. She needed to have control over something, to be able to fix the solution, she fought her instincts to run to the library, to do research. Her tone became short, snappy as the nurse continued to ask her the same questions, to run through the scenario again and again.

"Why aren't you helping her?!" Anger coursed through her veins, she gestured towards the room as she spoke, she paced back and forth, her hands now jammed angrily in her pockets.

The nurse offered her a sad smile, calmly insisting that they were doing everything she could, but there wasn't much to go on. They were running tests, every diagnostic spell they could think of, but so far had been unsuccessful.

She still hadn't been allowed in the room. Her inner voice spoke, reminding her that this Fleur had recently found her mate, reminding her that there had been many changes, would be many more to go through yet. That voice of reason pointed out that transformation for her own Fleur drained her still, would be a last resort in any situation, and she was prepared, had awakened years ago.

"Where's the floo?" She questioned, more yelled, at one of the nurses passing by. He stopped and pointed down the hall, "'S down that way, on the left."

Hermione barely nodded in thanks, already running off in that direction, times like this she hated Wizard communication, why couldn't they just use cell phones like muggles? It would be so much easier than this.

She managed to find the room, pushing through the heavy wooden door, its large metal knocker hanging from the mouth of a lion. Luckily the solitary floo contained within the room was not in use, she thought she would have snapped if it was, just another thing she didn't need right now.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, calming her nerves as best she could as she grabbed a pinch of shiny purple powder from the jar on the mantle and tossed it in to the flames. They changed shades quickly, turning from yellow to green, snaps of blue crackled and popped as she spoke, "Delacour Manor."

The call connected, warm flames licking her skin, a warm breeze brushing her cheeks, slightly flushed from the heat. She looked around, recognizing the room, taking in the subtle differences between this one and the one she had once stepped foot in.

The wood floors were darkened with age, polished nicely they shone even in dim light. The large windows of the parlor overlooked the family gardens, the furniture in here was simple, clean and showing no signs of wear. Its uncomfortable appearance was misleading, having been charmed to provide the perfect comfort to the user. The room itself looked as though it had been pulled through time from the 1800s, overly ornate and impractical, untouched by the family for years. It was a formal room, mainly used by the family when hosting guests, meant to seem imposing, proud, much like the Veela themselves.

She'd only been in this room a couple of times, her first when she met the family, she had been perched upon the loveseat, her mate next to her, hands clinched together, Fleur offering all the silent support she could to the nervous brunette.

Fleur's mother, Apolline Delacour, was beautiful beyond words, a veritable Aphrodite. Despite being decades older than her own children, she looked as though she could be their elder sister, age had not touched her features. She glided across the room with grace and elegance, her silk robes a pale royal purple, hung loosely upon her slender frame. Her cerulean eyes enchanting, holding the attention of anyone caught in their midst. Silvery blonde hair was left free, hanging below her shoulders, gentle curls at their ends.

Her English was heavily accented, the language unfamiliar to her, Hermione knew that the Apolline in her world was very intelligent, always holding the upper foot, she used her accent to trick others, to make them underestimate her. She could be very cunning, preferring to be the one in control in any situation.

"Bonjour, what can I 'elp you wiz, Miss...?" She spoke calmly, her tone unhurried, feigning disinterest. Her gaze held no recognition, causing Hermione to pause for a moment, it had been quite some time since she had last experienced this side of the clan leader.

She ducked her eyes, showing humility, this would not be an easy conversation, and having it at such a distance was not how she had planned. She took a deep breath, inhaling the thick scent of smoke, steeling her nerves, "I need your help, Fleur is in trouble," she spoke carefully, "I don't know what happened, but you're the only one that can help her. Her Veela is awake."

"I am aware of zat," she spoke with irritation, the knowledge that she had just shared knocking Hermione off balance, "So, zat must mean zat you are 'er mate." She spoke without urgency, her words sure. Hermione nodded slowly, she didn't want to give away too much, wasn't sure how much they knew (they already knew more than she'd hoped).

"So what is ze problem?"

"We were talking, and she started to transform," Hermione was careful not to discuss their conversation, knowing what it was that caused the transformation to start, she didn't need to go into that with her in-laws, even if they weren't the ones she knew, "she regained control not long after, but then she fainted I guess? She hasn't come back to and the medics don't know how to help."

There was a knowing look contained within the electric blue eyes of her mother-in-law causing the brunette to blush, averting her eyes as the elder Veela watched her. She was not one to avoid the truth for the sake of public decorum, saving reputations or sparing embarrassment.

"She iz simply exhausted. It iz a lot for a young Veela to handle, she will awaken when she iz rested."

Hermione felt embarrassed over her quite obvious over-reaction, the answer seeming so obvious now, she spoke softly, "Oh, that's it? I'm sorry to have bothered you,"

Apolline cut her off, "No, do not be, I will arrive tomorrow to assist Fleur wiz ze rest of ze changes. Zis situation will be very 'ard for 'er I am afraid, 'er Veela will be wanting to claim its mate and refusing to acknowledge its coupling wiz 'er 'usband before long." She was solemn, her tone taking on a sad note as she imparted this information on the young witch.

That was something her own Fleur had not had to deal with, but now they would both be having to face the consequences of her rushed actions. Internalized anger flared to life as she chastised herself silently. They would have to find a way to survive this, but if she was able to return to her own world, what would the blonde do then? Would her own counterpart be willing to be in a relationship she had no say in? What of their current marriages? Their children? How would they react? Would they be able to carry on in secret or would the nature of the Veela resist that very idea?

The call ended and she made her way back towards Fleur's room, her mind still consumed by her thoughts. She didn't realize that she was no longer alone until a shaggy redheaded man called out her name. Her head snapped up, towards the sound of the noise.

Bill stood there, worry etched into his chiseled features, his black tie was loosened around his neck, white shirt untucked, its collar bent where he had wrenched his tie free. His jeans stood out in stark contrast from the rest of his formal appearance, a worn pair of tennis shoes caked in mud on his feet. He'd been pacing back and forth, small clumps marking his pathway.

"Bill? What are you doing here?" She queried, then realized it was a stupid question, he was her husband after all.

A chuckle, "I could ask you the same thing, how is she?"

She shook her head, a frown appearing on delicate features, "I don't know, they won't tell me anything."

"Ah, they keep saying they don't know, what happened anyways? The story they told me didn't seem to make any sense. You were with her right?"

Bill had always been a gentle man, slow to anger, always wanting to see the best in people, at least the one from her world, she couldn't be sure that this Bill would be the same, but she reasoned, he couldn't be that much different here, Fleur had married him after all, and there was no way she would have ended up with someone "bad". Still though, she was unsure about how much to tell him, now that she knew what had transpired, or rather the reason for why it had transpired.

How would she explain Fleur's Veela having awakened? If he believed himself to be her mate, then wouldn't he question why it hadn't happened sooner? Or he could arrive at the conclusion that it was someone else and wouldn't that then mean she was involved in an affair? Hermione knew nothing had happened between them, nothing physical at least, aside from a couple of hugs and innocent touches.

And he may not know it was her, or believe what she said when the truth was revealed about them later. He was waiting for an answer, watching her expectantly, it was taking too long, "Yeah," she nodded, clearing her throat, "I was, we'd gone for a walk, needing a break from the Ministry," she continued, telling white lies here and there, creating a cover.

"She started acting funny, disoriented, I thought maybe it was a panic attack for some reason, maybe the crowd? I pulled her into an alleyway away from everything, and it seemed to go away. I suggested we head back to the office and turned around, when she didn't follow, I turned back in time to see her fall."

"There was nobody around, I checked, and couldn't get a response from her, so I brought her here."

He nodded, his face betraying no emotion, "I see, maybe we'll just have to find out from her when she comes to." He brought a hand up, scratching the back of his head before adjusting his tie again. He had a habit of fidgeting when he was nervous, she remembered, the eldest Weasley always trying to keep himself occupied. Ron had always teased him about not being able to stay still during their time at Shell Cottage. She fought a wince at that memory, it had not been the best time for her, despite the proximity she had with her mate.

He caught her movement, but decided not to comment on it, knowing Hermione would tell him if she wanted him to know. His sister-in-law had always been relatively private, preferring to have the answer already worked out.

A nurse, one of the men who had taken Fleur to her room, appeared in the doorway of the waiting area, calling out to them and beckoning the pair to follow him. They quickly exchanged glances, Hermione gesturing at him to follow first before she fell in behind him. It felt foreign to her, having to rely on another to care for her mate, Fleur not being her mate here, just her sister-in-law. She nearly gagged on that phrase, her Muggle sensibilities kicking in, her mate was family here.

He was an older man, his graying beard kept short and scruffy around his face, a bald patch on top of his head, he spoke softly, concern filling his voice. His glasses hung at the V of his scrub top, he looked almost like how she had imagined Santa when she was younger. She had missed much of what he had said, but assumed it was not much, as they walked towards the sleeping woman's room. He left them at the door of the darkened quarters, Bill entering first, rushing to his wife's side, taking her hand in his. They dwarfed the small, manicured hand, encasing it fully.

There was no response from the French woman, he lightly kissed her cheek, whispering softly to her. Hermione stood back, hanging awkwardly around the door. She felt as though she was intruding on their privacy, she averted her eyes as tears began to form. He was able to act how he wanted, while she had to hide, her heart aching as she wanted nothing more than to rush to her side, to whisper sweet nothings in her ear, offer reassurance to the sleeping form of her wife.


	8. Chapter 8

Next up! (Lemme just avoid doing my homework some more...)

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Hermione awoke, her new surroundings becoming familiar, encircled in strong arms, she shuffled closer, burying her face in her companion's chest, eliciting a soft sleep-filled sigh from the blonde. A small smile spread across her face as she pulled the brunette closer into her.

She thought she would have felt embarrassed considering the previous night, but she just felt content, secure in her lover's bed. Butterflies erupted in her stomach, giddiness overtaking her, she couldn't fight the smile that broke out upon her features, the thought of Fleur as hers provoking a reaction she had not expected. _Hers_. It echoed in her mind, her nerves vibrating with each iteration. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head slightly, a silent chastisement at her behaving like a teenage girl who was just asked out by her crush.

If Fleur knew, was able to see this, she was sure she'd die of embarrassment. Though, she couldn't believe it as well, wondering how it was she ended up married to the ice queen, she'd remembered when they first met, during her Fourth year. Fleur had always given the other students a cold shoulder, probably because most of the boys (and a few girls) were practically drooling over her. They'd been told to welcome the other schools, to increase goodwill between the other countries, something Hermione had tried to do. But after being on the receiving end of one too many glares and scoffs of derision, she had given up on being friendly with the blonde.

There wasn't outright hostility between the two, no, but she certainly hadn't felt any compulsion to go out of her way to be friendly, or to help her. Rather, she'd taken to gossiping with Ginny, their childish nickname being used way to frequently, so much so that she'd remembered using it just before Bill's wedding. A snide comment, breathily whispered out when the ice queen had "ordered" her to do something, a request without an option, the blonde had continued on speaking, her thick accent annoying the younger witches in the room.

They had spent much of the night trying to figure out why Fleur would even have ended up with Bill, they came from different worlds. Sure the eldest Weasley didn't look all that bad, his roguish looks would probably draw in some women, not that he was her type, but Fleur- even Hermione could see that she was out of his league.

The blonde had at the very least, pretended not to notice as the impoverished family questioned her motives, welcoming her into their home but doing the least possible to actually make her feel at home. This Fleur was so unlike the one she was currently burrowed into.

The sleeping form beneath her stirred slightly, muscles tensing and relaxing, rippling beneath pale skin. Hermione pulled away, putting space between their bodies, averting her eyes as she attempted not to stare at the lithe body of the goddess before her.

A strained smirk appeared on cherry lips as the older woman continued to stretch, splaying her limbs, watching as the timid brunette tried to resist, her chocolate orbs wandering back, quick glances, soaking up the vision before her, freckled skin flushing slightly. A pink tongue darting out, whetting her lips unconsciously.

Fleur caught the small movement, her Veela preening under the attention of her mate, she left the bed, her motions exaggerated, hips swaying as she walked towards the closet, tossing long, messy locks over her shoulder, feeling eyes drift downwards, drinking her up.

Hermione didn't know what was happening, she couldn't take her eyes off of the beauty before her. She'd never felt so drawn to the other woman, this pull, a need to be closer. She came to her senses, remembering that this wasn't her world, that Fleur wasn't actually hers, guilt clenching around her heart, _Rose. _

Sadness dripped into her mind, it had only been a couple of days, but she missed her daughter terribly. The mood of the room shifting, from playful flirtation to somber seriousness, Fleur wrapped her wine red silk robe around her slender body, shivering slightly at the touch of the cool fabric. She hugged herself, trying to mask her discomfort.

She knew the woman before her was her wife, but she knew there were also slight differences between the two and it left her unsure of how to act, how to 'fix' the problem. Cautious, quiet words broke the silence, "Iz zere some way I can 'elp?" She made to approach the other woman, stopping short when she saw her shake her head, her lips moved slowly but no sound came out, "No."

Fleur relented, unable to push forward, her heart aching, she turned and left the room, leaving her mate alone. There were some things she would have to handle on her own, the two women did not have the same bond that she had shared with her Hermione, and that would have to be forged again with time and trust.

She would have no way of knowing what it was she was going through, what it was that she had been forced to leave behind, dumped in a strange world, a new life, and even a new partner. What reason did this Hermione have to trust her? Her own had been slow to open up, a rocky start to their friendship (if it could even be called that) filled with more arguments than peace.

_Hermione had exited potions, having been reprimanded harshly by Snape, much to her chagrin, the Slytherins had rejoiced in her sorrow. Malfoy had been relentless this year, she supposed it was due to Harry once again finding some trouble, or rather trouble finding Harry as it always seemed to. The prince of the school had been (yet once more) dethroned by the boy-who-lived. Malfoy had always enjoyed being the center of attention, had always reveled in broadcasting the worst of others to the school._

_This time had been no exception, and so she had, for lack of a better word (or any), fled the classroom as soon as she was dismissed, hastily shoving her books and parchment into her bag, only partially latching it as she pushed through the heavy wooden door. Her heart pounded in her chest as the cacophony surrounding her droned on, tears threatening to spill, she pushed on, head hung low, pursued by Malfoy and his pack of feral dogs. Their laughter ringing in her ears, muting the conversations she passed._

_She hadn't even been wrong, Snape was just... Snape, the oversized bully he was, took points from her because she could answer all the questions he asked. School was about learning new things not being punished for knowing things, and if he didn't want the answer he shouldn't have asked she'd reasoned._

_The brunette continued to push on, her wild mane of curly brown locks shielding her from the outside world, hiding her eyes, hiding her emotions, she trudged on through the crowd, up the staircase, fleeing like a coward her inner voice taunted, she walked until she was all walked out, passing through halls, stairways, passages, up and down, until she managed to find herself in a new area._

_The din of the other students had fallen away, just the peace of the quiet castle was all that existed here, illuminated by a few slits of light, speckles of dust floating by, twinkling in and out of view. The walls were largely bare, just a sandy brown with a couple of tapestries hanging on them. Her footsteps echoed in the stillness, breaking her out of her reverie, she realized she was lost._

_She passed back and forth, trying to remember how it was she got there, but alas, it was of no use, she'd been too trapped in her mind when she arrived, nothing looked familiar. She rounded a corner, another hallway, she passed down that following it to the end, a couple more turns, this looked like where she'd just come from now._

_She turned back around, looking for another hallway, another path she could have taken. She saw nothing, the only other turn had led her to a dead end. Walking back, fear rising in her chest, tightening its grip, she wondered if she'd be lost here forever, remembering stories told to her in her first year by the upper classmen, trying to scare her. Stories of others who had been lost, finding mysterious parts of the castle that would appear and vanish at random, disappearing in the woods, or being killed by some of the strange creatures that made their home in the area. She'd scoffed at them and concluded it was all nonsense but now, they came flooding back, now that she was lost inside the place that had been her home for three years now._

_She slid down to the floor, her back pressed up against the wall, her bag hitting the floor with a thud, her black sweater riding up, constricting her movements even more, sticking against the rough surface of the granite walls. Crossed arms rested on her knees, her head buried, she couldn't help but feel overwhelmed._

_When she looked up, ready to compose herself and find her way out with a clear head, she spied a door across the hall. A door she was sure had not been there previously. Curious, she went to go investigate, it may have held her escape (or just been an empty classroom- that was much more likely after all), her hand gripped the cold, worn metal handle in her hand and she pushed it open, finding little resistance. Strange, she'd thought, expecting there to be a squeak or grinding or some pushback, if it wasn't used frequently, she'd believed it would have started to rust shut, or maybe that was just a muggle problem. She made a mental note to see if there was a spell to prevent that._

_Knowledge could always distract her from her problems, even if it did cause most of her personal issues, it wasn't her 'problem', it was theirs. The room however, was not what she had expected._

_A fire roared in the marble hearth, a rug littered with pillows of all different shapes surrounded it, the stone floor had given way to wood, polished smooth, a warm caramel color, the furniture looked worn but still plush and comfortable, an overstuffed couch sat on the other side of the cushions, facing the fire. A large open window with sheer white curtains displaying a bright green garden on the opposite wall drew Hermione's attention however. She wasn't aware of any gardens surrounding Hogwarts, drawing her closer, she felt the need to investigate. The bookshelves and mahogany desk went unnoticed as she gazed out the window, the magic surrounding it puzzling her._

_She stood before it for some time, jumping when a voice spoke, "Beautiful isn't it?" Hermione clutched at her chest, willing her heart to return to a normal pace, breathing hard, her head came to rest upon the window._

_"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," came the apologetic sounding voice, one she didn't recognize, a thick accent coating the words, one of the Beauxbatons students._

_Clicking of heels on wood signaled the approach of the student, speaking softly, "It is ze view of ze gardens at ma family's 'ome."_

_She stood next to Hermione now, a full head taller than her, her platinum blonde hair hung in a sheet down her back, a pale pink tint on her snowy white skin, azure eyes shining forward, out the window, drinking in the beauty around them._

_"But how?" Hermione croaked out, her voice rough, harsher than she expected, a minute flinch couldn't be hidden as it hit her ears. She cleared her throat and tried again, "How is that possible?"_

_Already her rational mind was searching for answers. "I do not know, but I do not care, it is ze closest to 'ome I can be while I am 'ere. And sometimes, knowing how makes ze magic less magical," she added with a smirk, dismissing Hermione's question._

_The brunette wasn't sure how to respond, she stood there staring out of the window, her mind trying to process it. She wanted to argue, but no argument burst forth. The figure next to her moved, backing away, her hair fanning out gracefully as she turned. She made her way back to the couch, lowering herself upon the plush surface, crossing a slender leg over the other, revealing smooth porcelain where her skirt had been. She quickly busied herself with the book she had been reading prior to her interruption._

_A single pink tipped nail separated the pages of her book as she flipped the paper, a slight crinkle of the aged text could be heard. She was unconcerned with what Hermione did, unbothered that the young witch had yet to move from her spot, or to even make a sound._

_The young Gryffindor turned her head to observe her companion, amber eyes drinking in the natural beauty of the Beauxbatons student, she had yet to learn her name, had yet to even see her face really, many of the students all looked similar, so many of them were blonde and pale-skinned._

_She exuded confidence, grace, unnatural elegance and yet, Hermione felt drawn to her, felt oddly comfortable around this near stranger. She was relaxed, and... She mentally chastised herself, "Of course! She's Veela!" The thought suddenly hit her. Ron had already seemed confident there was at least one in the Beauxbatons delegation, she supposed there could be others too, it would make sense._

_"Staring is rude you know," it was flat, she spoke with an even tone, sure in her words, she left no room for argument and she hadn't even looked up from her book, she turned another page and Hermione quickly averted her eyes, tucking a rogue brown curl behind her ear, a blush rising on hidden features._

_A mumbled apology and an awkward pause between the two before the blonde sighed and put her book to the side. "If you are going to stay, you may as well come 'ave a seat and talk to me to cover up your staring like a normal person," irritation clipped at her words, biting at the edges._

_Another mumbled apology and the brunette found herself rushing to the blonde, eager to have a seat near her, to be closer, sharing the space, breathing her air. That had to be her Veela characteristics at play, making her mind act all funny. An awkward silence enveloped them, the young Hermione unable to find her Gryffindor courage, the blonde seemed completely disinterested, annoyed by the fawning presence of the schoolgirl who stumbled upon her hideout._

_"Well?" She asked, "Aren't you going to introduce yourself?"_

_The bushy haired girl blushed, fidgeting nervously, a poor attempt to hide her embarrassment over forgetting her manners. "Oh, um, I'm-" it died on her tongue, she wiped her hands dry on her robes before starting again, her hand quickly thrust between them, invading Fleur's space, she spoke formally, as though reciting a script instead, "My name is Hermione, Hermione Granger, it is a pleasure to meet you," her voice lilting into a question, hoping to learn the name of her company. Her hand still hanging in the air, only having received a glance from the ice queen of Beauxbatons._

_Receiving no answer after a moment, her hand slowly dropped, rubbing her palms against her jeans hidden by the black of her robes, her face falling._

_The blonde began to chuckle, "You are a funny one 'Ermione," she teased, "You do not need to be so formal wiz me, I am not a professor."_

_The timid Gryffindor shrank in on herself, her face obscured by wild curls, hanging low. The words stung, like a slap to the face, she didn't understand why they bothered her so much, she'd always been fine with being more mature than her classmates, but now, these words from someone whose name she didn't even know, they stung, burning themselves into her mind._

_But the burn would be nothing compared to the fire that roared to life after that, "I am Fleur Delacour," came the accented voice, filling the room with its sweet melody, like music to her ears, soft fingers cupped her chin as tender kisses were placed upon her cheeks. She sat there stunned into silence, not knowing how much time passed, the blonde had left shortly after, a quick "Au Revoir," as she exited the room, leaving her book on the small table next to the couch._

* * *

_Fleur watched from across the Great Hall as the intriguing girl from earlier entered the room, still seemingly in a daze, she wobbled her way over to her table, sitting down between a redheaded boy and a black-haired boy. The two chattered away, hardly noticing her appearance, she lurched forward as an oafish hand came down on her back, gripping her shoulder and shaking her slightly as he enthusiastically gestured with his other._

_So uncouth, she thought, pulling her attention back to her group of friends. Her younger sister, Gabi, was watching her closely, had noticed her sister acting distant that evening, though she said nothing at the moment. It would soon be forgotten anyways, there were much more important matters to attend to._

_The ceiling of the Great Hall was grey, clouded over, lightning illuminating the room, breaking the dreariness of the looming clouds. The stars were obscured tonight, darkness having fallen before dinner. The short days of Autumn had already arrived, browned leaves making their way slowly to the ground, crunching under boots, a chill permeated the air, settling in her bones, proving just how ill-prepared the French were for this drastic change of climate. Their uniforms were more fashionable than useful._

_The Goblet was placed in the center of the room, all eyes upon it as a flash of lightning cast long shadows around the room. Dumbledore rose from his seat, silence falling over the room as he spread his arms, the pale fabric encrusted with jewels glinting in the dim light, "Before we retire to our common rooms, we must first announce the representatives of each school. It is an honor to be chosen by the Goblet, but that does not mean that those not selected do not posses the same skills and abilities as those who are. The Triward Tournament exists to foster bonds between the schools, not create division amongst them, do not lose sight of that."_

_Each of the headmasters made their way to the Goblet, standing just behind it, united in drawing the names. The blue flames turned orange, crackling and snapping as a singed piece of parchment was ejected from it. Dumbledore went first, grabbing it as it drifted to the ground, "Viktor Krum!" The Bulgarian seeker stood, his red uniform standing out amongst the sea of black around him. He took a small bow, barely bending at the waist as applause roared around him. He was unfazed by the attention, having grown used to it already during his time on the national team. A strong hand clapped the back of the boy next to him, another muscular student, with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, his features were sharp, eyes cold, calculating. He roughly shook the proffered hand of Viktor, anger at not being selected palpable even from across the room. _

_Fleur shook her head slightly, "Nikolai," it was soft, Gabi sat next to her, a small pout on her lips, the two Veela sisters were disappointed that their cousin had not been selected, but they did not have long. The flames changed again, Karkaroff stepped forward, his hand outstretched as the next piece of parchment floated down, landing in his palm._

_"Fleur Delacour!" He called out, an eruption of cheers broke out, deafening the blonde where she sat. She stood after a moment of shock, her sister had urged her to stand, tugging on her arm. She curtsied quickly before sitting back down at the table. She had long been used to the stares, to receiving everyone's attention, but that did not mean she enjoyed it. Her eyes caught sight of Madame Maxime, her face oddly contorted, trying to hide her pride at the selection of her favorite pupil. A slight nod, and her headmistress stepped forward, ready to call the Hogwarts champion._

_Her mind would not allow her to focus, consumed by conflicting emotions. She looked towards the Gryffindor table, seeking out the funny brunette from earlier. Their eyes met, and she frowned seeing her roll her eyes and scoff as she looked away. Fleur was puzzled by her behavior, but didn't have long to muse as angry shouts broke out. She looked up to see what was going on. Dumbledore stood in front of the room, a charred paper in his hands, "Harry Potter," he repeated._

* * *

_Fleur paused in the hallway, a hastily scrawled note in her hands. Her face betrayed no emotions as the crowd passed around her, winding their way through the corridors. She suddenly pitched forward, her back coming in contact with a solid object, or rather, a solid object colliding with her. She turned, ready to berate the fool who had run into her._

_The words were already flowing free, running from her mouth, "Watch out-" she stopped suddenly, the bookworm that had run into her looked up, eyes wide, panic on her face. Hermione stood there, book still clutched in her hands, her mouth opened, but no words came out. Jaw flapping like a fish out of water, she turned and ran, leaving her book to lay forgotten on the stone floor._

_Her reaction puzzled Fleur, who bent down to pick up the book. She examined the cover, "_Siren's Song: An Examination of Magical Creatures and Why Humans are Drawn to Them"_ was embossed in gold lettering. Fleur raised a single eyebrow as the read the text, she flipped open the cover, running her finger down the page, her blue eyes scanned the table of contents. The hallway began to clear around her and she snapped the book shut, placing it hastily in her bag before making her way to the next class._

_It was dinner time before long and the students were making their way to the Great Hall to once again. Fleur made her way to the Ravenclaw table, already quite full with the addition of the Beauxbatons students. A couple of her friends waved to her, drawing her attention. She smiled and made her way to sit with them. The plate on the table before her filling with food, she grabbed the goblet filled with pumpkin juice, taking a sip, she was approached by the brunette from earlier._

_The girl was nervous, fidgeting with the hem of her robes as she walked. Fleur continued to converse with her friends, ignoring her presence until she could no longer. Hermione cleared her throat, "Excuse me," she interrupted, four pairs of eyes turning towards her, her fidgeting continued on._

_"Could I have my book back please?"_

_Fleur smiled, a devilish glint, she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, elbow on the table, "You know, if you wanted to know about Veelas, you could have just asked." An unspoken challenge between them, their witnesses glancing back and forth._

_"I would like my book back," the younger witch spoke, irritation in her voice._

_"I don't know why, it is wildly inaccurate," her tone was disinterested, she had looked at the plate of food, taking her silverware in hand, she began to cut into the red meat before her._

_"Fine, keep it then," Hermione turned and left, ending the exchange suddenly, stomping off towards the Gryffindor table._

* * *

_The next time they would meet would be in the library. Only a couple days had passed, the blonde still had possession of Hermione's book. It was sitting on her bedside table now, she really should return it she mused. But as long as she had it, she had a reason to see her again. There was something about the girl that intrigued her, but she couldn't identify it, and she couldn't resist teasing the curly-haired teen._

_Fleur however, was currently sitting at one of the back tables in the library, surrounded by a stack of books. Parchment splayed out on the table, held in place with a small jar of ink. She dipped her quill in the dark liquid, carefully draining off the excess so as not to leave drips on her essay._

_The tip scratched at the tanned surface, her neat handwriting slowly covering the paper. Her concentration was interrupted with the soft thud of a body coming in contact with the wooden chair across from her. She briefly glanced up from her work, only a brief pause, before she returned to her essay._

_Hermione sat across from her in silence, shuffling through her bag, she pulled out a textbook and her own quill. The crinkling of parchment being unrolled filled the void between them, neither spoke, content to just exist. The tense peace between them was broken soon when Viktor followed by a gaggle of giggling girls entered the room. Madam Pince shushing them angrily, threatening to kick them out if they wouldn't be silent, leading to Hermione letting out an annoyed sigh, rolling her eyes at the behavior of her classmates._

_She couldn't help but smile, gazing up at the brunette. "You are annoyed by zem too?" The question was innocent, she didn't even expect an answer. She looked back down to her essay, rereading the last sentence she'd written, frowning slightly, it didn't sound right._

_She scratched out the last sentence, rewriting it, before looking up, Hermione was looking at her strangely, her quill still poised in her hand. "What?" she questioned, breaking the other woman out of her trance._

_She shook her head, "Nothing," before turning back to her parchment. A moment, and then she placed her quill back into her ink pot. "You still have my book."_

_It was a fact, she left no room for argument as she spoke, not that there was anything to argue. Fleur nodded, barely noticeable, a slight dip of her head, "I do."_

_"Can I have it back please?" Hermione didn't know why she added the formality, it wasn't really a request._

_Fleur nodded, a small acquiescence, it wasn't hers to keep, "It is in ze carriage," a pause, she began to pack up her belongings, "If you want to come wiz me, we can retrieve it now."_

* * *

The gargling of freshly brewed coffee could be heard from the kitchen. Fleur stood, her foot tapping impatiently, waiting for the steaming beverage to finish, her tumbler sat empty on the counter before her. The dark nectar slowly filled the carafe below it, the slow drip becoming a steady stream under her unwavering gaze.

"Come on, 'urry up," she whispered under her breath, she still wasn't fully adjusted to the long waits and slow pace of muggle life. She missed the days of being able to wave a wand and have a steaming cup in front of her. But there was one thing she would not do, and that was go to work without a cup of coffee.

It had been a few minutes since she had left Hermione upstairs, she would have to leave for work soon, and the other woman would be left home alone. Footsteps tapped on the floor behind her, she turned with a smile to see her mate, still in her pajamas, padding her way into the kitchen, the blue and black plaid fabric swaying around her legs with every step. Her arms crossed over her chest, she stifled a yawn before moving to search the cabinets, looking for a mug of her own.

"Zat one zere," Fleur said, pointing to the cabinet to the left of their sink.

Hermione mumbled a thanks as she pulled open the door. "Where are you going?" she asked, curious.

"Work," Fleur said simply, "I'll be back this evening," she poured herself a cup, stirring in cream and sugar before replacing the lid. She took it in hand, and placed a quick kiss on Hermione's cheek, not wanting to push too far with the other woman still needing to adjust. She wouldn't bring up the events of the previous night, knowing if Hermione wanted to discuss it, she would bring it up first.

It felt strange to her, troubling, like space was growing between them, a feeling of dread she couldn't shake. She told herself she was being ridiculous, smiling at her still sleepy mate, "How about we go out for dinner when I get home?"


	9. Chapter 9

Bill sat hunched over the sleeping form of his wife, he reached up, gently brushing her hair to the side, his fingers gently tangling in it. Hermione felt anger, jealousy rising to the surface, bubbling in her chest. She took a deep breath, hoping to calm herself, to steady her nerves, this was not the time or place.

She paused in her pacing, hearing footsteps pounding, multiple steps, voices echoing down the hallway, muffled by the walls. She poked her head out the door and into the corridor, only to be greeted with the sight of Ron, Harry, and Ginny all rushing towards her.

A smile spread upon her face, slightly forced, they were her friends, her family, but she really didn't want to deal with them right now, it was bad enough that Bill was here, but she had no right to send them away. And they were there out of concern, and as Fleur's family, had as much right to be there as she did. She needed to remind herself of that. Things were different here, they didn't have to go through it alone now.

She greeted the trio as they made their way inside, hushed whispers, asking what happened, how she was, filled the silence of the room. Bill sat up, still holding onto Fleur's hand, attempting to answer their questions. The blonde continued to sleep on, unaware of the scene unfolding before her.

Hermione hated having to lie to them, to pretend she didn't know, but she had to. Answering would lead to more questions. She couldn't ease their concern, tell them it would all be okay, that she was just resting, her Veela had exhausted her. How would she answer that? How could she know? What awoke the Veela? If Bill was married to her, if he was her mate (she gagged at that thought), wouldn't her Veela have woken up a long time ago?

There was no reason for it to have awoken now, at least nothing plausible. The group edged closer to the sleeping blonde, Hermione staying back, leaning up against the wall. She couldn't ease the feeling of intruding upon a private moment, she didn't know any of these people, hell, she technically didn't even know Fleur, her mind screaming at her that she didn't belong didn't help either.

That was her mate, of course she belonged, she wouldn't ever not belong with her. She wanted to just blend into the wall, to disappear.

Ginny spoke first, noticing how withdrawn Hermione was, her long red hair cascading down her back, she'd continued to grow it out then, Hermione noted. It had been years since she'd last seen her, the few survivors of the battle had fled, each retreating to a different part of the world, too broken to maintain contact. She didn't even know if her Ginny was still alive after all these years, she'd heard stories that a few resistance fighters were still around, but there was no way for her to know if it was true or if it was just an attempt to draw her and Fleur out.

She'd grown up, evolved from a scared young girl to a fierce woman, so different from the young child that fell prey to Riddle's Diary. Left with scars, visible and invisible, a nervous twitch and constant glance over her shoulder, turned timid as a mouse, this Ginny was unafraid, able to speak up, determined to be anything but a footnote.

"'Mione," she called out, nodding her head towards the sleeping form, "Come on up here, you're part of the family too."

Hermione forced a smile, her emotions waging war in her heart, in her mind, she stepped forward, intruding on a private moment, a scene in which she wasn't meant to be, she was only going to ruin the happy family ties, to bring it all crashing down. She edged nearer, Ginny reaching out a worn hand, calloused and hard, skin rough from the broom handle of her Firebolt, she took Hermione's lightly in hers, offering a reassuring squeeze, providing support for the other woman. Her smile was quick, soft and genuine, coming naturally to her before she looked back to Fleur, Hermione's hand still gripped in her own.

Ron was standing behind Bill, his hand clasped around Bill's shoulder, he spoke softly, his gravelly voice threatening to crack as he spoke, words of comfort, words of encouragement. Harry stood there silent, his gaze intense, piercing green eyes focused on the form of the sleeping Veela.

They stayed for a while, Hermione lost track of time, they'd left the room to give Bill some time with his wife, waiting instead in the small waiting area, a few chairs lined the walls and a table sat in the center of the room. They'd all circled around the table, Ron and Ginny both clutching styrofoam cups filled with coffee.

Fingers tapped the table impatiently, their drumming becoming rhythmic, there was no information. Hermione had finally admitted that she'd already called Fleur's mother, informing the group that they'd be arriving the next day. Hopefully they would be able to shed some light on what had happened, the nurses and even the doctors hadn't been able to shed any light on Fleur's 'mysterious' condition.

The brunette was, however, panicking internally, afraid of what may be said. She feared the worst, her mind visualizing the worst possible outcomes in many different scenarios, playing them like a bad movie. Scenes of Fleur's mother arriving, her overly energetic younger sister following close behind, a slightly disheveled and harried looking man with greying hair panting behind them, his tweed suit jacket open, a leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder coming in last. Elias was a friendly man, a little rotund, and large brown eyes filled with compassion, bearing almost no resemblance to his children- the Veela genes too strong. She didn't know how they would react to her, and that was what scared her the most. Veelas were proud to have found their mates, if they were so lucky, welcoming them into the clan with open arms from the moment it was established.

Outsiders, or those who were not true mates, were not so lucky, the clan kept their secrets safe. This, unfortunately, was a secret that they may not be so willing to keep safe.

She was interrupted in her thoughts, Harry proclaiming how late the hour was, and with no ability to help the situation, they may as well go home. Ron nodded in agreement, standing from the hard backed chair he had occupied for hours, a pop echoed in the room as his joints cracked.

"I'm just gonna pop in and let Bill know that we'll be off."

Harry and Ginny acknowledged him, continuing their actions, Harry placing a light jacket around Ginny's shoulders, creating the image of the perfect couple. Hermione remained seated, her eyes drifting towards the door Ron had exited through. She startled when Ginny gently touched her shoulder, "You should get some rest, too," her voice soft, kind, comfort flowing through her words, seeping out of deep green pools.

"Yeah," Hermione agreed, looking down at the table again, she didn't want to leave, the pull towards her mate was too strong, even the thought pained her. She steeled herself, gathering all the courage she could (which, despite being a Gryffindor, was not much in this instance). She pushed herself up, hands resting on the table, supporting her movements, joints creaking as her muscles shifted underneath.

A longing glance towards the room, Ginny hugging her tight, and they were off, meeting up with Ron in the hallway. He walked silently next to Hermione, the air was somber, he reached out, his oversized hands awkward and clunky, an arm wrapping around her waist, Ginny parted from her, replaced by the brunette's husband.

She knew this Ron had done nothing wrong, but still, she could feel nothing but disgust towards him, towards his touch. It made her feel dirty, traitorous. His hand was heavy on her hip, his grip too tight, she felt suffocated, a dog on a leash, being pranced around like a prize that was won. Bile creeped its way up her throat, burning as it went.

Hermione tried to pull away, drifting as she walked, his grip just tightened and he pulled her close, "It's gonna be okay, 'Mione. We'll be home soon and you can forget all about this."

His words pierced her chest, driving a knife in, twisting it, piercing her heart. Red clouded her vision and she pushed him away, grandiose movements drawing attention from passersby. Hurt flashed across Ron's face, confusion following soon after.

"Did I do summin' wrong?" He queried, his voice tight, scratchy.

"No, no I just- I can't, not right now," She looked away, hiding her eyes, "I'm sorry," she looked at him, eyes soft, tender. He forced a smile, fake understanding, a quick dip of his head, he shoved his hands in his pockets, the soles of his shoes dragging on the concrete beneath them, a rhythmic scraping.

Hermione hugged herself, shrinking, curling in, tears stinging at her eyes, she threw a glance over her shoulder, looking back at the plain building of St. Mungo's, it's pale cement exterior and geometric shape contrasting with the whimsical structures, black and dark, dusty. She stumbled as she stepped forward, Ron catching her, supporting her. She fell into his arms, tears springing forth, Hermione buried her face into his chest, sobs wracking her body.

"I- I want- t-to go back," she spoke between tears, gasps of breath, her words coming out in starts and stops.

"Alright," Ron didn't know what was going on with Hermione, didn't know why she was acting like this, she and Fleur had never seemed that close, had never had much to do with each other, a silent wall between them.

They'd worked in the same department, maintaining professionalism despite their family ties, but it had always seemed tense, a veneer of politeness masking the undercurrent of tension going all the way back to their school days. He supposed he was partly to blame, spending his entire Fourth Year drooling over, pining after the blonde. And maybe after that year, if he was being honest, still, though he no longer purpled in her presence.

The two had always been competitive, rivals to each other, pushing the other more and more, further, harder. A biting comment, an insinuation tucked in their cheek, resting on the tip of their tongue, sour, reserved for a private moment, whispered alone, muttered under their breath. The ice princess evolving into a queen, nails digging under Hermione's skin like claws, leaving marks in their wake. And Hermione was never one to be bested, always trying to give better than she got.

He watched her as she turned and walked away, her pace quick, long strides, a skipped step here and there as she tried not to run back. Her curls streaming out behind her, a hand coming up to wipe away her tears, her control broke and she ran the rest of the way, pulling open the door with vigor, it swung wide, bouncing against the wall.

Hermione skidded to a stop outside the door, pulling herself together again, she took a deep breath, running a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face, another deep breath, steadying her breathing, hoping the flush of her skin would disappear. Her hand raised up to the door, about to touch it, to push it open, when fear invaded her senses, her fingers tensed, curling in on themselves, her hand falling down limply, resting at her side.

She turned, that same hand coming up to her face, fingers still bent, she bit her knuckle, falling back against the wall, closing in upon herself, a shiver as she tried to conceal her sobs. A long moment passed before she recovered herself.

Her head hit the wall as she looked up to the ceiling, fluorescent lights bearing down upon her, blinding her eyes. She slowly turned and went inside, trying to appear composed. Bill stirred, looking back, he smiled at her, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners, "I thought Ron said you all were leaving?"

"Yeah," she looked away, only briefly, a thought crossing through her mind, she better not look away, it would give away her lie, "I thought I needed to be here though," she finished nonchalantly, realizing just how much like Luna she sounded in the moment.

Bill only nodded, gesturing to the empty chair across from him, "Have a seat then," he returned his gaze to his sleeping wife, his hand wrapped around hers.

Hermione did as he suggested, falling into the plastic covered cushioned chair, a poof of air escaping as it sank. They sat in amicable silence, both intently focused on the blonde in repose before them. Her bones burned, sparks alight in her joints, she itched to reach out, to take her mate's hand, to hold her close. Instead, she placed her hand in her own, clutching it tightly, scared that she may reach out and take it otherwise.

Bill did not react to her movement, instead whispering to his wife, smoothing the straight hair framing her face, he told her Hermione was there, that her friends and family had all been by, and he continued on, telling her how much she needed to come back, how much her family would need her, their daughters would need their mother.

A sad smile, his voice was beginning to crack, Hermione couldn't take it anymore. Another deep breath, she tore her eyes, bringing them to meet Bill's, "She'll be okay, I know she will be, she's much too strong to go out without a fight."

He smiled appreciatively, he finally sat back, his spine cracking from having been bent over his wife for so long. The sun outside was starting to set, casting long shadows, darkening the room around them. "You said her family is arriving in the morning, right?"

"Yeah, they didn't give a time, but said they'd be here."

"Should expect them first thing, then. If I've learned anything about them, it's that Apolline always arrives early."

"That she does," Hermione responded, sounding distant. She didn't notice the look Bill gave her.

He looked down at his watch, eyeing the time before returning to his former position, hunched over Fleur. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, lingering just a bit. A whisper of "I love you" could barely be heard, followed by another kiss and a squeeze of her hand.

"I've got to get home, check on the kids, you know," he stood up slowly, his arms coming up, bending at the elbows as he stretched his sore, stiffened muscles. "They'll be wondering, after all, Mum and Dad probably need a break from their mischief too."

Hermione smiled, nodding at him, "I'll stay with her, don't you worry. If there's any change I'll floo you immediately."

The tall redhead made his way around the bed, giving the smaller brunette a tight hug, crushing her against his thin torso, "Thank you," it was soft, "I'll be back, first thing in the morning, hopefully before Apolline arrives to begin her interrogation," his voice had begun to take on a teasing tone, his mood bettering slightly.

She nodded again, returning the playful banter, "You better, it's your job to handle the parents." She winked at him, then returned his hug, "Get some rest, you'll need to keep your energy up."

He agreed and bid her farewell before making his way from the room, apparating just outside the door. Hermione sighed, letting out a slow breath, one that she hadn't realized she was holding. Now that they were alone, she took up vigil for Bill, her hand delicately cupped over Fleur's, her other brushing long strands out of her face. A soft smile on her face, her brown eyes tender, she reveled in the touch of her mate.

She stayed like that for some time, light caresses, tender touches, caring whispers, words of adoration, her eyes drooping, drifting shut, pulled down by the weight of sleep. Her head came to rest upon the Veela's abdomen, an arm slung over her legs, their hands still clasped, she would sleep in that position, contentment filling her chest.

* * *

Morning came too soon. That and a certain blonde. Apolline Delacour was, above all else, a formidable woman. She drew attention, captivating all those around her, and she knew it. But what was more important was, she loved it. She loved the power it gave her, the ability to make or break anyone with a single sentence, a single look. She did not need to wear flashy clothing or gaudy jewelry, her makeup did not need to be overstated, no her Veela blood was enough.

She breezed into the hospital room, her heels clacking on the hard floor, hair flowing out behind her, her dress was a dark maroon, bordering on blood red. Her eyes fell upon the sight before her, her daughter sleeping soundly, hand clutching that of another, it took only a moment for her to realize that it was her daughter's mate spread across her.

She observed silently, studying the sight before her, not yet wanting to intrude, to interrupt the bond forming between the two young women. This was, after all, what her daughter needed the most, this contact to recover from her exhaustion. It was only Hermione's touch that would calm the restless young Veela.

Though, doubt still filled her mind, it wasn't that she didn't believe her daughter but, she knew relatively little about this brunette, and how was it that she knew the Veela langauge, was able to speak it to her Fleur? The language was unknown until after the bond had been sealed, and it was far from that point.

Apolline crossed the room, moving the empty chair, letting its wooden legs scrape against the tile, waking the sleeping lion. She sat up with a start, jolting awake, she was disoriented, looking about her for the source of the sound, the source of her current displeasure.

They widened in surprise, seeing a slightly older version of Fleur, more fierce and commanding, proud, but looking much more like an older sister than a parent. It was just the two of them, Elias and Gabi were nowhere to be seen.

Apolline stood there, looking as regal as ever, her gaze cast downward upon the weary Gryffindor. Hermione had flashbacks to their first meeting, that feeling of being assessed, inspected, of being found 'not good enough'. This time went differently, this time, Fleur was not providing support, smiling at her, whispering to her, providing confidence, guidance.

The stoic woman greeted her, testing her, mistrust shining through, filling ocean blue spheres, _"Good morning Hermione."_

_"Good morning, Madam Delacour,"_ she spoke, using the language of the Veela, the words of the unfamiliar language flowing, dancing off her tongue, as if she used it frequently, but she'd used it more since arriving in this land than she had in her own in the past year. It was a siren's song, dangerous to the outside world, enchanting those that heard its music, their sweetness melting in her mouth, like browned sugar. _"She is still resting as you can see, her transformation happened so quickly."_

The suspicion drained from her eyes, replaced instead with impressed pride. There were still questions, but there would be time for answers later, they had plenty of time. She had passed the test, and that meant, she was at the very least, a mate of a Veela. The older Delacour relaxed, her demeanor changing as she transformed into the ever caring mother she was, doting on her daughters. She stood over her daughter, a small vial appearing in her perfectly manicured hand. "I think you have slept long enough," she muttered, uncorking the glass bottle, letting a couple drops fall onto her fingertips. She rubbed the strong smelling solution on the blonde's chest.

Fleur gasped, inhaling deeply, her body reacting immediately, she blinked quickly, trying to take in her surroundings, "Maman? What are you doing 'ere?"

"'ermione called me after your transformation yesterday. I am 'ere to assist you in learning to control your ozzer 'alf." Her accent was much stronger than her daughter's, Hermione smiled, a poor attempt at hiding her amusement, knowing how much the other woman despised the English language. It was so... clunky, broken, a hard language, not only in patterns but sounds.

Fleur looked to her mate, reaching for her hand, taking it in her own. She smiled, tender, her eyes growing soft, filling with the image of her love. It felt natural, she felt... at peace, full of love, her Veela purred, content at last.

Their moment was interrupted with the heavy sounds of Bill's thick soled boots. Their clomping grew louder, mirroring their heart beats in their chest. The two women pulling apart, their skin burning at the contact. Ice gripping at Fleur's lungs, filling and suffocating, her hand began to reach out, searching.

Tears pricked at her eyes, her fingers curled, forming a fist, striking the mattress next to her. Her mother pulled her into her, offering what comfort she could. She knew the pain her daughter would be feeling, she would offer as much support as she was able, she just hoped they would figure it out soon.

Her Veela would come to reject Bill, reject his touch, to scream out, to yearn for her true mate. She would lose control before long. For now, her presence would have to be enough. The shaggy redheaded form of her husband appeared in the doorway, sporting a wide grin as he realized his wife was awake. He rushed to the bed, engulfing her in a hug, pulling her into him, "I'm so glad you're awake, you had me so worried!" It all gushed out at once, his hands pressed to her cheeks, pulling her in tight, he kissed her, his unshaven face rough against her skin.

Fleur had to resist the urge, the desire to pull away, to push him back, her Veela gagging at the taste of this man, this man who was her husband but not her mate, a man she had loved. A new pain coursed through her chest. He released her as she began to feel her grasp weakening. She gasped for breath. "Something wrong, love?"

She shook her head, forcing a smile, happiness not quite reaching her eyes. She pushed back her Veela, fighting with every movement as she reached out, her hand cupping his cheek, guiding him down, towards her. Bile rising in her throat, the thought driving her Veela mad, rampaging in her mind, in her body.

Slowly, choking it back down, her lips parted and she felt his on hers once more. "I am alright my love," she whispered, her words quiet, she dared not look at her mate, too ashamed. Her Veela struggled to break free.

"'Ere, take zis," her mother spoke, handing another vial to her, "it will 'elp." She did not specify with what, that passed between them, unspoken, Fleur took the vial, looking at the crimson liquid, thick like blood. She tipped the glass back, the liquid sliding down, rushing to fill her mouth, she swallowed thickly, tasting cherries. Her Veela began to calm, tired now, it contented itself with voicing its anger instead.

Fleur smiled gratefully at her mother, handing the now empty vial back. "Thank you," a small, sad smile was offered. She felt crushed, crowded, the room was too small. A nurse entered the room, "Ah you're awake, good." She smiled at the blonde sitting up in bed, making her way to her to check up on her.

* * *

Fleur was released later that day, Bill had taken her home to a quiet, empty house. The children had stayed over at the Burrow last night, happy to spend time with their grandparents, he'd not told them of what happened to Fleur, having no answers and not wanting to worry them.

Apolline had not left her daughter's side, insisting upon taking care of her daughter, "A mother's duty is to care for her child" she had claimed, ushering Bill from the room. The reality was, she knew that the potion would subdue the Veela, but it would still be difficult for Fleur to be near him. And they had much work to do with the newly awakened Veela. The eldest Weasley had insisted it was also his "duty" being married to her, however he could not sway the clan leader.

The young Veela had no idea what was to come, what her 'training' would consist of, and to an extent, her mother was just as unsure. She would be the first quarter Veela to be able to fully transform, to have found her mate and had her blood activate. She was woefully unprepared.

Her mother regarded her with curious eyes, drinking up every detail, analyzing the situation, she contemplated what to do before finally, she spoke, "Tell me what you remember, what happened yesterday?"

Fleur recounted the events, telling of how she and Hermione had been alone, how her mate had just learned of their work relationship, and then, her senses sharpened, everything became overpowering. And then, she'd been in her mate's embrace, coming back down, everything returned to normal.

Apolline nodded, intently focused on what her daughter recounted. She didn't interrupt the narrative, soaking up the details offered to her, she knew enough to fill in the blanks, to realize what had caused the transformation. The Veela were creatures of love, of infatuation, of sex. Thoughts of which caused the Veela to break free yesterday.

"Do you 'ave an owl I could use?" She probed, intending to send a message to Hermione, she would need to be present to induce the changes as their bond had not been sealed. She quickly scribbled a note on a scrap of parchment tying it to the owl's leg before sending it off on its mission.

"We will begin your training tomorrow, I zink you should rest today." She spoke with an air of finality, sending her daughter off to bed, giving no room for argument.

The door shut behind her with a click, she paused, standing in the hallway, only a moment. A silent prayer that her daughter would not be too hurt with her actions. The process was supposed to be slow, but this was happening too quickly, she feared for her granddaughters as well, how they would be impacted by what was to come. She would need Fleur to pursue a relationship with Hermione, if she didn't, the bond would continue to grow, albeit much slower than otherwise, but it would all lead to the same end.

The Veela would not allow her to maintain things as they were, it was already beginning to reject Bill. Poor Bill, the innocent, losing his wife to another woman, he'd always been kind, gentle, she couldn't have asked for a better partner for her daughter, except for maybe her mate, but that- that hadn't seemed a possibility.

He'd never pushed her, never rushed, wanted more than she was willing to give, accepted the Veela had their secrets and he would never be privy. He accepted things as they were. A good man.

Her musings were interrupted with the arrival of two young girls, running and loudly screaming "Grandmaman!" as they stampeded towards her. She bent down, ready to scoop them both up into a hug, "My girls! I 'ave missed you," she picked up Dominique and took Victoire by the hand, leading them away from their mother's room.


	10. Chapter 10

TW: mentions/descriptions of animal cruelty; also, its maybe a little sad?

* * *

_Hermione packed up her things, slipping her heavy book into her bag, it hit the table with a muffled thud. She flipped the cover of her leather messenger bag, quickly latching it. The padded strap wound around her shoulder and she adjusted it slightly, positioning the bag just right, slightly behind her. Fleur looked at her expectantly, "Ready?" she asked._

_Hermione nodded, a sharp tip of her head. She followed behind the blonde, the crowd parting silently around them. Stares followed them, hushed whispers, Hermione felt her nerves growing, their eyes bearing down on her, questioning. She wasn't used to the attention, but Fleur strode forward, unbothered. Poised as always, the ice queen strode on, her eyes glancing over those around her, reminding them of their position, peasants every one of them._

_She pushed through the heavy wooden doors of the entryway, creaking as they moved, the bottoms scraping against the stone. The fall air was cool, crisp, sharp in their lungs. She breathed in deeply, feeling the burn in her chest. The blonde slowed her pace slightly, falling in line with the brunette._

_"Why are you so curious about Veelas?" Her eyes remained forward. Her voice was soft, but there was a hint of suspicion in it, her demeanor remained distant, closed off. She didn't trust outsiders, she had learned not to._

_Hermione shrugged, she honestly didn't know. Maybe it was Ron's insistence that the blonde had been one, but, she'd already confirmed that, hadn't she? So why did this book matter so much? "Curiosity, I suppose."_

_ "Curiosity killed the cat, you know," it was teasing, snark touching the edges of her voice, insinuation._

_The young Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, "What's that supposed to mean?" Her eyes had descended into slits, anger marring her delicate features, tensing as she realized she was alone with the blonde, the castle now a ways off and the carriage closer to them._

_"Nozing, just zat it is not always good to be so curious." The blonde had continued walking, not missing a beat and not waiting for her companion. "If you truly wish to know about ze Veela, I suggest you come to me, ze ozers may not be so understanding," she looked over her shoulder, her eyes serious, a dark blue, piercing, boring through anything they focused on. A chill ran up Hermione's spine, goosebumps appearing on her skin._

_Fleur paused, only for a second, her demeanor shifting again, "Coming?" A smile appeared on her face and she held out a hand, offering it to Hermione. The little lion felt possessed, if anyone would ask, she would claim a moment of insanity, she reached out and took her hand. Soft skin clutched by calloused, worn and rough, hanging between them._

* * *

Fleur left Hermione alone, she would be free to explore their house without prying eyes. However, it filled Hermione with questions, what did Fleur do for employment? It certainly couldn't be anything magical, and she hadn't received a muggle education. And why did she even need to work? She'd always come off as a spoiled princess, though, Fleur did work with her at the Ministry, so... But that was different she reasoned, it wasn't muggle work.

Hermione shook her head, clearing her mind of these thoughts, it was a tangent that wouldn't help her to return home. That was the most important thing right now, not what Fleur was doing. Her thoughts began to drift back, the previous night's events returning to her mind, causing her skin to flush. It was a sight, no, an experience, she'd never thought she'd have. What was more shocking was she found she'd enjoyed it, more than she'd ever thought possible. Her lips tingled at the memory of their kiss, feeling a need building up within her.

She had to keep her mind from returning to these thoughts, worried she would be too tempted to stay, to leave her family behind and embark on a new life. Hermione freed her mind of the intrusive ideas, making her way to the library, ready to tackle her alternate's notes.

Her fingers ran over the titles, thick, dusty tomes, worn and marred with time laid haphazardly upon the shelves. Stacks strewn about, pages left open, the area was cluttered, bits of parchment. A rune circle was crudely drawn out upon the floor, long melted candles encircled the runes. She would have laughed at the absurdity of it all, looking like a muggle's idea of witch craft, the type from a B list movie.

But, here she was, so, there had to be something to it. She couldn't deny that bit. She made her way to the desk, looking for a piece of parchment, something not written on already, she needed to organize her thoughts anew. She pulled open a drawer, finding a stack of flattened rolls, their ends curled up, held down by a piece of rock. She pushed it aside, taking a piece in hand and removing it. She began to search for a writing utensil, anything she could use. The drawer was empty, she began looking around, searching near the different piles across the room.

Hermione managed to locate a pen, it had rolled under an end table, she dusted her hand off on her pants as she stood up. Now, ready to get started, pen in hand, a fresh piece of parchment, she felt ready to take notes.

She began by writing down the items involved, or what she would assume was involved in the spell. Though, she only knew the tools that were left behind. She followed up by writing down what she knew had happened. What she thought her alter was trying to get to, the Battle of Hogwarts.

She finished her notes and paused, sitting back in her seat, tapping her pen on the desk absentmindedly. Her bottom lip was sucked in, pinched beneath her teeth. She was contemplating where to start, it took only a moment before she decided to research time turners. There wasn't much information on them though, and all of them had been destroyed, so that meant she'd made one, or attempted to make one.

She ran her fingers through her hair, scratching at her scalp and tousling her curls. An exasperated sigh escaped her lips. It was really advanced magic, even for her, and the secret behind their creation was lost to time, an ancient relic of the days of Merlin. But, whether or not it was possible to recreate, that was the path she had to go down, a different end goal however.

Hermione hunched over her desk, scribbling furiously as ideas came to her, her hand couldn't keep up with her mind, her writing becoming sloppier as she worked. She jumped, startled as the door clicked shut behind her.

She hadn't heard anyone enter the home, hearing the door close, she rose from her seat, already reaching for her wand, her heart pounding in her chest. A shock of blonde hair, ice blue eyes, the gorgeous figure of the blonde enchantress registered in her mind, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her wand falling to her side as her empty hand came up to her chest. "You scared me," she exhaled.

"Ma cherie, I am sorry," the blonde apologized, crossing the distance between them, taking her mate in her arms, she pulled her in close, however she would soon be surprised. Hermione, breathing in the scent of her wife, the comfort it provided, the sweet smell of vanilla and cherry, wrapped her arms around Fleur, her hands coming to rest on her lower back. Her head fell into the crook of Fleur's neck, resting there, her pulse point by the tip of her nose.

It was so tempting, right there, just out of her reach, it would only take a little... Hermione, filled with a desire she didn't understand, shifted slightly, kissing, nipping at the pale flesh there, sucking. The blonde gasped in shock, her eyes dilating, the blue of her irises turning dark and stormy. She released her grip on the brunette, cupping her cheek and pulling her up for a tender kiss, filled with want and need, it quickly began to escalate.

Hermione struggled to regain her senses, finally pulling away, releasing the French woman from her grip. Her hand rested lightly on Fleur's chest, fingertips curling around her shoulder. She couldn't lose focus, couldn't stay here. A shudder, chills running through her body, her nerves burning with need.

The blonde, for her part, did not press for more, did not urge her to continue. Her pupils were blown wide, filled with desire. Her hands slid down, from Hermione's shoulders to just above her elbows, resting them there. She smiled at her love, crinkles forming at the corners of her eyes, "Did you make any progress today?"

Hermione bit her lip, a pensive look crossing her face, "I think so? I'm not sure just yet."

"You'll get zere, I 'ave faith in you." The brunette blushed, turning to hide it, she was unused to the confidence in her abilities. She had always known she would find the answer, but there had always been those who doubted her. This time, it was given so freely, without question, without conditions. Even Ron still managed to question her despite their years, in spite of her record.

"Now, 'ow about dinner?" That question prompted her stomach to rumble, muffled and quiet but still providing an answer to the blonde. The pair broke out in laughter, "I'll take zat as a yes, hmm?" Hermione only nodded, it wasn't much of a question anyways.

* * *

The pair sat at the table, glasses of wine between them, enjoying the ambiance of the restaurant. Fleur had led to her a quaint little Italian restaurant, they'd both ordered pasta dishes and finished their meals long ago. Now they just enjoyed the wine, the music, and each other. Their hands laid on the table, clasped together, careless, carefree. There was nothing to hide here, no relationships with others, no one to worry about hurting. Fleur recounted her day animatedly.

Hermione's questions of employment were answered, one by one, without any prompting. She discovered that Fleur here too, had money, and therefore her education didn't matter. She'd converted some of her inheritance (if you could call it that as she hadn't yet 'inherited' anything) to Euros some time after arriving in the small village. She'd seen a problem and decided to fix it, or contribute to finding a solution as best she could, melting Hermione's heart even more.

What was the problem? There were too many homeless animals in the area. Her solution? She opened a shelter. Every day she spent time, helping the community, feeding the strays she couldn't take in, offering assistance to those in need. She spoke that day of an incident, a puppy that had been found, on the brink of death, starved and beaten by his owner. He'd been found, scarred, frightened, growling and nipping at anyone who tried to get close. She'd received a call from a young woman, she'd confined him as best she could, in an alleyway, he'd backed himself into the corner, limping as he'd tried to run.

Fleur had gone to her location, a bag of chicken in hand, hoping that at least the scent would entice him, would allow her to get closer. She'd offered it to him, but he'd just growled, low and dangerous, his eyes never shifting from her. She'd tossed some towards him and backed off, trying to get more information from the good samaritan.

His dusty brown fur was matted, darkened with blood and mud, a partially healed cut across his nose, another above his eyes, flies buzzed around his ears. Her heart was breaking for the poor pup. She'd never understood how humans could be so cold, so cruel to another creature. But he wasn't alone in this experience, she'd been in his position before, many times, treated as lesser, as something inhuman due to her Veela heritage.

She'd eventually managed to get closer to him, at least enough to inspect the damage a bit better, he scarfed down bits of chicken in front of her, his eyes wary, he flinched at her movements and she resolved to move as little as possible. After a couple hours she managed to get him to eat from her hand, tears of joy springing forth from her eyes. A little more, just a little more time, a little bit closer.

Fleur had managed to get him back to the shelter, her vet was examining him and would let her know. She was happy that he was at least off the streets now, would have food, would be around those that would care for him.

Hermione thought back to her days of S.P.E.W., what led her to working in the Ministry, in trying to further the rights of Magical Creatures. She knew her Fleur had interest in that department as well, had figured it was because of her creature blood, but she'd never asked. She wondered for a moment, would Fleur have helped her back then, if she'd just asked?

The waiter stopped by their table, asking if they would like their glasses refilled, Hermione didn't respond, too lost in her thoughts. She was only shaken from them by Fleur looking at her expectantly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry, what was that?"

"I'd asked if you would like another glass of the pinot grigio, ma'am." His head dipped slightly as he finished his sentence, the bottle held in his hands, a towel slung over his forearm.

"Oh, yes, please," she offered him her glass, the bottom still filled with a couple sips of the bitter drink. He delicately poured another glass, the slightly yellow liquid swirling at the bottom. "Thank you," she said, taking back her glass, setting it down on the white table cloth.

Fleur had declined another, her own glass still half full, she had been swept up in recounting her story, to focused on it to drink. He left them in peace, and the blonde looked at her, "So, tell me about your day? What did you find?"

Her blue eyes sparkled, her pupils reflecting the dancing candle light between them. She'd leaned forward, not releasing Hermione's hand from her own. They spoke in hushed whispers, pausing only for a moment when Hermione got too excited about some new bit of information, her voice rising in parallel. Her hand would find its way back into Fleur's whenever it left, she would gesture, describe what she'd found, breaking their connection only to repair it a moment later.

Fleur's eyes were alight, focused and bright, betraying her emotions towards the brunette. Her earlier feeling of distance between them forgotten, the gap closing as this Hermione began to resemble her own. Perhaps they weren't so different after all? She clung to every word, drank up all she was offered like a dying man in a desert.

She took a sip of her wine, and watched as her little lion became embarrassed, closing in upon herself, retreating into her shell, "I'm sorry, I'm probably boring you," she quickly said, trying to mask her voice, hold it steady as she reigned in her interest. Fleur frowned, seeing pain pushed away, behind disinterest, apathy. There was more to this, but now was not the time.

"Non," it was sharp, sharper than she'd intended, but her voice belied urgency, "please continue, zis is fascinating to me. I am just zinking, zere must be somezing missing. You remember, during ze war, I 'ad worked at ze Ministry as a curse breaker," she paused for a moment, noticing Hermione's brow furrow.

"No, at least, not in my world, you'd worked at Gringott's, that's how you met Bill." Confusion underscored her words.

"Gringott's? That bunch of... untrustworthy little sneaks? Why on Earth would I ever work there?" She couldn't hold back a laugh at the thought of being employed by them for any reason.

Hermione shrugged, it wasn't something she could answer. "Right so, here, you worked for the Ministry?"

"Yes, and, as a curse breaker, I had to work wiz ze Unspeakables on certain cases. Ze details are unimportant, but what iz important iz, ze items you 'ave mentioned, zey do not pozess ze powers you need for time travel. At least, what I 'ad seen of ze ones zat remained."

She spoke with confidence, like a person who was sure of what they spoke, without room for doubt, only the slightest bit of hesitation with her last sentence. It was unfortunately, that sureness, as refreshing as it was to Hermione, worried her. What if her appearance here had just been a fluke? An accident that was never meant to happen? Was she trapped here? Though, part of her secretly hoped she was, it didn't seem like life would be so bad here.

Her mind, filling with worry, a fear of never seeing her daughter again, not unless her counterpart wanted to return, she may be the only one to know what had happened. Would she want to return? Surely... despite losing the war, losing her closest friends, surely she'd want to return to be with Fleur, unless, no she couldn't think on it.

"So," she spoke loudly, a little too loud, she quieted her voice, leaning against the table, resting her chin on the palm of her hand, fingers curled against her cheek, her elbow bent on the hard surface, "you worked with the Unspeakables? What else did you do here? You know, before we lost."

"Ah, well," Hermione could tell she was growing nervous, her hand beginning to sweat. Nervous laughter escaped the blonde leaving her even more confused and questioning whether she really wanted the answer.

"If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to. No judgement here though, I hope to be returning home at some point." She continued on, hoping to ease the French woman's discomfort with the situation.

"It is nozing bad, and you already know, or razer ze ozer 'Ermione does, but zat does not alleviate ze embarrassment."

She couldn't help it, but now she was really curious. She prodded a bit more, hoping the Veela's resolve would break, a gentle "Tell me," an easy smile, and maybe a "Come on, please?" escaped her lips. The Veela had kept her lips together, sealed, shaking her head no, her blush increasing before finally, she gave in.

"I need another glass for this," she flagged over the waiter from before, asking for another. He was happy to oblige, and before long, she was spilling her secrets, her glass already close to empty.

* * *

_Fleur was seated in the library, nearest the window, a book open across her lap. She had her stockinged foot propped delicately upon the table before her, her long hair was unpinned. In this moment, she looked rather unrefined, quite contrasting the image of the prim and proper princess she had sported at every moment in public at Hogwarts._

_She flipped the page of her book, rather interested in the fantasy world playing before her eyes, a world where the prince would save the princess, slay the dragon and save the day. She had a soft spot for fairy tales, worlds where true love not only existed, but was able to be had by all._

_Her mind kept drifting back to the young Gryffindor, her unquenchable thirst for knowledge, wise beyond her years, sure in her abilities, steadfast in her beliefs. Her mind filled with images of their time together, how beautiful she looked when she smiled, when she laughed, how protective she was of her friends. She felt so deeply, had loved so fully._

_For the first time, she'd begun to regret her decisions. She longed to be back at Hogwarts, to be in her lover's embrace. Her heart ached, a pain she had not felt before, pain that she did not truly understand, not at that moment. She'd thought she'd made the right decision, leaving things on a positive note, having discussed the reality of the situation with the Gryffindor._

_They'd agreed that they should remain friends, the challenges of continuing a relationship too hard to overcome, Hermione needed to focus on school, and on stopping Voldemort if what Harry said was true. Fleur had to return home to France, she had family obligations she had to attend to. It just wasn't realistic for either of them to pursue, or rather continue to pursue, their relationship. Besides, they were just children, what did they really expect to come of it?_

_And so they'd broken up amicably, both of them pragmatists where the future was concerned, agreeing that it would come to an end as the school year did so. Unfortunately, for Fleur at least, her longing increased, growing with the miles. The wings of the Abraxans continued to beat in steady motion as her thoughts became more scattered. The pain in her chest growing, tears pricking at her cheeks, she summoned a photo of Hermione from her room. The picture was of the both of them smiling together, a weekend at Hogsmeade._

_She'd remembered a strange little boy with an even stranger object in his hands, the flash of a bright light before them before Hermione chased him away, it was still playful. She'd later been handed the object, thinking how strange it was that they did not move within the scene. _

_Fleur had been told then, that muggle photos don't move, capturing a single moment rather than a series of moments. Her fingers traced over Hermione's figure absentmindedly, tears stung her eyes as her vision blurred. She was so overcome, and she didn't know why._

_The English Channel was below them now, they would be arriving home soon, but the pain just grew. Something stirred within her, sucking the air from her chest, she was left gasping, hunched over, her vision began to blur and the world spun._

_She called for help, having been left alone in the room, the other students hiding away in their rooms or other common areas, gossiping and reminiscing, talking about their plans for the summer, for the future. Eager to return home, they talked of what they had missed._

_A brunette entered the room, hearing her cry out, rushing to her side as she began to fall out of her chair, curling into the fetal position. "Fleur, Fleur?!"_

_In her delirium, she responded, a hand reaching out, dropping her photo, "'Ermione?" she asked before losing consciousness._

* * *

_The next thing she would remember was waking up in her bed, back at home, the plush sheets enveloping her petite form, keeping her warm, it was too hot, she could feel sweat running down her body. She threw the sheets off, trying to get up, to escape from her soft prison. Her legs were weak, body shaking under her weight, her vision became spotty and her head light._

_Her mother ran into the room, catching her as she began to fall, returning her to her bed. "What happened?" she managed to whisper, her voice faint, throat dry and scratchy, a cough followed her words._

_Apolline handed her a glass of water, urging her to rest. It wasn't until later she would learn that her Veela had awoken. After she'd fallen unconscious, she'd stormed about the carriage, screaming, yelling until her voice was hoarse, demanding Hermione. She'd trashed the rooms, breaking down locked doors with inhuman strength. Her parents had been called to the carriage, where it had landed on the shores of Normandy._

_Madame Maxime had floo'ed her parents, requesting their immediate presence to calm their daughter. It had not taken long for Apolline to recognize the situation, the temporary madness induced by a newly awakened Veela becoming separated from their mate before the bond was complete. It was something Veelas were warned of, growing up hearing of stories, they had all been told of the dangers, but Fleur, she did not have enough creature blood, it shouldn't have happened to her._

* * *

_Fleur returned to England as soon as she was able to, she'd taken a job at the Ministry, putting her skills and talents to the test. Curse breaking hadn't been something that had interested her much, nothing she'd aspired to growing up, but they had offered her a job soon after her interview, the first offer she had received and she accepted without hesitation. She was able to return to that detestable country, a country whose only positive was that it was where her mate resided._

_She'd recently learned to control her Veela, to become one, embrace it and all that it entailed. Its power still coursed through her veins, still tried to dominate her, to bend her human half to its will, the will to go claim its mate. She calmed it by reminding herself (and it) that she needed a plan, that she and Hermione were no longer together and she couldn't just waltz back into her life like nothing had ever happened._

_She felt the beast within her calm, pacing back and forth within her, impatient and wanting more but resolving to create a plan._

_Fleur would spend the next couple of years attempting to win back the brunette, she was not easily swayed, claiming that she needed to focus on school, didn't have the time for a relationship, at least not a serious one, not like what Fleur would want. The blonde refused to admit that Hermione was her mate and she would always wait, would always be there, would give the young woman the world._

_And that was how Fleur ended up becoming a spy for the Order._

* * *

Hermione smiled at Fleur, watching intently as she recounted her story, her thumb lightly tracing over the back of Fleur's knuckles. "So, is that how you met Bill?"

Fleur nodded, "Oui, 'e was also involved in ze Order, in a similar line of work, and 'e was not decades older zan I." A sly grin appeared on her features, "We 'ad to stick togezzer."

"So there was never anything between you two?" Hermione didn't know why she wanted to know, why she was curious, or needed it confirmed, its not like she was with Fleur. Or, well, she was, but it wasn't like that.

"Never, 'e could see from the beginning zat I only 'ad eyes for you, cherie."

* * *

The two women eventually made their way back home, their cheeks tinged red, alcohol flushing their bodies. They were at ease around each other, laughing and joking as though they were old friends, their hands joined between them, arms swinging slightly. Hermione's shoulder bumped into Fleur's causing the blonde to drop her hand and wrap her arm around the brunette's waist. She fell into her side, tucking herself against Fleur, her own arm winding its way around the other woman's torso.

"I could definitely get used to this," she spoke absentmindedly, to nobody specific, to herself.


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione clutched the scrap of parchment in her hand, checking the watch on her wrist for the third time that minute, she tapped her foot impatiently, waiting. She had been instructed that the parchment would be a portkey and take her to meet with Fleur and Apolline.

The bushy haired brunette began pacing, checking her watch for a fourth time. Three more minutes left. Her path was interrupted, Ron appearing in the doorway, bouncing a babbling baby girl on his hip. She had the trademark red hair of the Weasley clan, already striking on her pale skin. Small ringlets had formed atop her head, she was a mixture of both her parents. A tiny hand reached up to her mouth, she began to suck on her fingers.

Hermione couldn't hide her smile at seeing her daughter, her motherly instincts kicking in. "What's got you so nervous?" He questioned her, drawing her attention from Rose.

She tried her best to play it off, "Nothing, just waiting for news." She made her way to cross the room, "Hi baby girl," she cooed, her voice sounding foreign to her, sickly sweet, she kissed her on her forehead.

She looked up at Ron, finally deciding to make an attempt to answer his question, the portkey would be active soon. "I got a message from Apolline, she wanted to ask me about what had happened, try to figure out what caused Fleur to faint."

He nodded, accepting the answer, leaning in for a kiss, his rough lips puckered slightly, their daughter wedged between their bodies. Hermione grimaced, trying to hide her disgust as she responded in the way she assumed her other self would. It was brief, uncomfortable, a position she wished she hadn't been put in, she'd have to wash her mouth out after that. She composed herself once more, checking her watch, seeing the second hand tick closer and closer, "Right, well, I'll be off then, be home for dinner."

The second hand completed its trip, the minute hand moving to its next location. A familiar tugging behind her navel could be felt, pulling her up, lifting her like a meat hook. She hated the feeling, she hated flying, people were meant to stay on the ground after all.

When she landed, she fell to her knees, thankful to be back on solid ground. Her landing had been rough, more like a drop than a gentle descent, her hands dug into the long grass around her. She looked around her, taking in her surroundings with bright, curious eyes. She didn't see anyone in the small clearing she was in now.

Trees and bushes surrounded her, only parting slightly for the meadow she was currently in. They were tall, large oaks, having been left to grow undisturbed for centuries. Their leaves blew in the wind, ruffling against each other as the branches shook. Her attention was drawn to a narrow path to her right.

Seeing that she was still alone, she decided to venture down it. Her wand pulled from its holster, held out in front of her, she scanned the nearby forest for any signs of danger. Ahead of her the path gave way to a peaceful glade, a stream passing through, rippling as it made its way through the forest. Her eyes drank in the serene beauty of the area around her, looking around in wonder, she tucked her wand back into her holster.

"It iz beautiful, non?" A deep voice, feminine, sultry and mysterious spoke softly, the accent thick. Hermione turned to see Apolline emerging from the same path she had followed.

"Where's Fleur?" she questioned, not seeing the blonde anywhere. The elder Veela continued to approach her, "She will be 'ere soon, I 'ad 'oped we could speak privately first."

Hermione nodded in agreement, her nerves spiking, she wondered what they would be speaking on, surely nothing good. How much of the truth could she keep secret? It wasn't as though Apolline was unfamiliar with the Veela culture, or with how their bonds were formed. She would know if Hermione was lying.

She waved a hand, a rather large, and flat rock appearing before them, "Come little one, you do not need to worry," a gentle laugh, like music carried upon the wind.

Hermione swallowed, her nerves still on edge, shaking just below the surface, she made her way to the newly formed boulder, plopping down upon it, her eyes scanning for routes of escape, _just in case_ she told herself.

Apolline's piercing, electric blue eyes focused intently on her, scanning her face, watching her features, looking for any sign of a lie, she asked "'Ow iz it zat you knew?" Her voice was calm, soft, without a hint of accusation, anger, she accepted.

Hermione blushed, looking down, studying the rocks beneath her intensely. Her hands fidgeted nervously in her lap, swallowing thickly, she hazarded a glance towards the edge of the clearing, looking over her shoulder. She felt eyes upon her, knowing that she would not look away, would try to avoid answering. A light weight placed upon her knee, a gentle squeeze, reassurance, tears pricked at her eyes.

Her eyes drifted shut as she sucked in her lips, a moment of collection. "I uh," she drew it out, breathy, "I-we, I mean, we, figured it out a while ago, shortly after the Tournament."

A well manicured eyebrow raise was directed at her. "Ze Tournament? Zat long ago? Zen why did she marry Bill?"

"Well, to be honest, she figured it out first, obviously, when the uh, the changes," she ran a hand through her long curls nervously, "started." It was a weak finish, she knew it, her voice was barely audible. "She had told me later, a couple years later actually," her hands clenched together, placed between her legs, she shifted on the rock, "but it was only after we had resumed our relationship that I was finally aware of it."

"I zink, zere iz somezing zat you are not telling me, Madame Granger," she spoke, without hesitation, without accusation, she was confident though.

Hermione nodded, one sharp tilt of her head, "Yeah, yeah there is," she breathed out a sigh, "She isn't my Fleur, that's how I know all this, there is another world in which Fleur and I are mated." Her eyes never moved from the ground, from staring intently at the grass beneath her feet, blowing slowly under the light breeze.

Apolline did not have time to respond, Fleur made her appearance in the clearing, not very discretely either, cursing under her breath as the bushes reached out, grabbing at her, attempting to hold her back and possess her for a moment before she pushed forward.

"Maman, why did you 'ave to pick such a difficult location?" she called out, irritation evident in her voice as she pulled free from the latest bush, she hadn't yet noticed Hermione's presence.

The young brunette couldn't help but laugh at how her love was struggling with nature, fighting against it as though she could control it. The melodious sound reaching the blonde's ears, she looked up, her eyes meeting pools of chocolate and she couldn't help but blush under the gaze of her mate, pulling the sleeve of her sweater free once again, she pulled with too much force however, and stumbled forward as the stick lost its grip.

Strong hands caught her, pulling her close, steadying her, drawing her breath from her lungs as she looked up into the eyes of her savior, an easy grin upon delicate features, she could feel herself melting. The moment was ruined however by her mother, clearing her throat loudly, the pair quickly separated, a sad attempt to hide the unbridled attraction between them.

"Zere will be plenty of time for zat later," she clapped her hands together, "but first, Fleur, we need to work on controlling ze Veela, and to do zat, we will need ze assistance of 'Ermione 'ere." A sly smirk graced her features, causing the two younger women to worry, shooting nervous glances at each other.

"I don't like ze sound of zat," Fleur spoke, a hoarse whisper, breathy and light, dancing upon the breeze, tickling Hermione's ear. She pulled away reluctantly, her body fighting her as she tried to put space between them, a useless attempt at protecting herself.

* * *

Hermione listened with renewed interest, learning secrets even she had not been told previously, the prodigy wishing desperately she had a notebook and pen with which to take notes, some way of retaining this knowledge, and, to her credit, her academic interest was keeping her from being as embarrassed as Fleur appeared to be.

The younger Veela had fallen unconscious due to the rapid change from her human state to her Veela state, and though the form had not managed to manifest completely, the effort it had taken had drained her of all her energy. Furthermore, until she learned to control it, the pair would have to be careful, and this was where it became all too similar to a child being scolded for taking a cookie from the cookie jar, hand smacked and aching lightly. Their proximity would continue to further the bond between them, until they were as good as mated, despite both of them being married currently (and not to each other), causing Fleur to reject her own husband.

The practical solution was, obviously, for them to avoid each other to prevent the bond from forming, but the practical solution was not always possible.

Their souls reached out for each other, grasping blindly, trying to find the other, simmering in their gaze, long and lingering, ensnaring the other. She wouldn't give this up, she would refuse. Her hand reached out, guided on its path, slowly inching its way towards Fleur's. She could not suppress the blush that colored delicate features once contact was made, the shy smile she was offered in return, oh how she longed to taste those lips, to feel their softness once more. A mirroring smile graced her own lips, hidden as though they were breaking the rules, the two engaged in a conspiracy together, ready to take on the world, their strength drawn from the other.

That solution was scrapped, rather quickly, by Apolline after witnessing this exchange. "I suppose that means we must find a way to control your Veela as long as we can," it was soft, dejected sounding really, but not chastising, not dissapointed at the pair, she knew the feelings they had, she had shared them herself with her own mate.

The pair was put through a series of embarrassing situations, Hermione had never felt closer to being a stripper in her life, her goal being to cause new, higher levels of arousal in her mate, in an attempt to force the Veela out, that was what had of course, gotten them into that mess. To an extent, she wished that she hadn't found herself in this position, but she also enjoyed knowing the effect it had on _this_ Fleur as well.

She'd witnessed the blonde transform before, but had never known that it was a result of her own actions, her own existence that caused it in the other woman. She'd never realized exactly what it was that caused her creature blood to awaken. But now, now that fact danced around in her mind, filling her thoughts, invading her senses.

And she'd never felt so weak before, so in love. Her thoughts began to blur, her mate before her dominating her mind, enhancing her emotions, she had never felt so much love, her hand reaching out, as if led, pulled by an invisible force, her mind focused singularly on the beauty in front of her, and her thoughts- images really of what they could be doing, of what they _should_ be doing. And then, then it became real, her fingers wrapped around skin, soft, pale skin, sliding up, past cotton, tangling in golden tresses, soft skin again, moving closer, leaning in, her eyes drifted shut and she let her cravings take over.

She was used to the electricity, the jolt of the connection, their bond, hadn't faded in years, never would, its intensity matching that of the two women it connected. But this, this was something else entirely, tentative, a promise, of change, of things to come, of what could and would be. Unspoken words of love, but known clearly all the same, she could be consumed by the strength of her emotions here and now if she'd let it.

All too soon it ended. Their connection broken, the need for air too strong. Their eyes dilated, pupils blown wide, filled with love, with lust. Soft smiles shared between them, those of new lovers, with a mountain of firsts yet to come. The world existed only for them, only to them. But all good things must come to an end.

That end was now. Hermione pulled herself from Fleur, extracting herself with a level of unwillingness, a pained separation, setting her nerves alight with a new fire, burning, blazing uncomfortably beneath the surface. The sun was sinking lower in the sky, golden hues cast long against pale blue, oranges, ambers, tinges of pink. Her dark eyes drank in every detail, savoring every moment, committing it to memory. Fleur mimicked her actions, fingertips tracing the outline of her jaw, cooling the skin beneath.

* * *

Hermione returned home, apparating outside her small cottage with a crack, breaking the silence, the stillness, her mind still back in the clearing, still with her heart, held lovingly in Fleur's hands, captivated in her eyes. Her feet betraying her as they carried her on, her shoes tapping on the cobblestone path, she stumbled up the two slight steps, her hand catching her, flying out to land upon the dark wood of the door frame.

A gasp of surprise escaping her lips, the door opening in front of her, light flooding out to fill the darkening space around her. Concern filled Ron's eyes, Rose clutched tightly in his arms, balanced on his side. "You okay 'Mione?" He asked softly, love and worry filling dark blue eyes, an overly large hand, clunky and awkward,reaching out, rough skin on hers, scraping down her arm, pulling her forward, into him, a gesture of comfort, or what should have been, would have been comfort to another.

"Yeah, 'M fine, just tripped," she waved him away, the hand that had been supporting her, now supporting in another way. She knew she was being short, she knew, he hadn't done anything to deserve that, not this Ron at least. The other deserved so much more.

His calloused hand squeezed hers softly, their fingers not quiet meshing together. Lightly curled digits hung limply in his, it felt wrong, so wrong. She pulled her hand away, reaching for Rose, taking her from him, holding her close, feeling the safety she provided, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Big, blue spheres looking up into hers, adoration filling them. She couldn't help but smile, a wide grin spreading across her cheeks.

She had never held much interest in motherhood, had never wanted to bring something so precious into a world so harsh, one she so uncertain, where she could not protect her from everything. After she'd sent her parents away, cut off contact with them, had such an unfortunate childhood, filled with more misery than should be allowed, she couldn't bear the prospects of doing that to another, much less her own.

But this, she had to rethink her decision, finding it newly appealing to her. Hermione's vision blurred once more, moisture pooling at the corners of her eyes, she flicked unshed tears away, the movement not unnoticed by Ron.

She brushed past him, making her way inside, focusing solely on Rose, still clutched tightly to her, repeatedly telling herself to calm down, that statement fast becoming her mantra. A deep breath, inhale, exhale, inhale again and slowly exhale. She returned her attention to the baby, now babbling away happily, sounds that would later become more distinct, transforming into words, but for now it was nonsense, carefree and wonderful nonsense, music to her mother's ears.

As Hermione sat down on the worn couch, its dark fabric threadbare, mottled and adorned with discolored patches, she couldn't help but wish that Fleur, her Fleur was here with her to experience this, to share the responsibility of raising a child. Tiny fingers wrapped themselves around her thumbs, gripping as tightly as they would allow, her bright blue eyes looking up to brown, a toothless grin betraying her emotions.

Hermione had not yet noticed Ron, had yet to barely acknowledge his presence, the hurt shining in his eyes, that he was trying his hardest to hide, his hands clutching into fists and then falling limply before repeating the motion. His expressive eyes focusing everywhere and nowhere as they moved about the room, unsure of what had changed, what had happened between them. He could feel a distance between them, the divide widening, becoming a never ending chasm, threatening to swallow him whole. Something was wrong.

He watched on helplessly as his wife played with their child, cooing gently back at her, an innocent game of peekaboo. He shook his head, trying to push the feeling back into the recesses of his mind before trudging through the room and into the kitchen. He'd started cooking dinner earlier, something simple as he was absolute rubbish when it came to cooking. Roast, however, was simple enough- especially since Hermione had insisted they buy a piece of muggle cookware- something she'd called a slow-cooker. All he had to do was put everything in it and the contraption would do the rest.

His hands worked on autopilot, opening the cabinet doors, pulling out dishes, serving up the roast, garnished with mushrooms, carrots, and potatoes soaked in broth, tender and infused with flavor, the meat itself falling apart as the fork drove its way through. Two glasses of merlot followed soon after, he'd been looking forward to a nice, quiet evening in with his wife all day, and now that it was here, he frowned at the wine, now a representation of what used to be.

But there was no time for that, no time to get lost in his mind, he pushed the darkness away again, calling out "'Mione, dinner's ready." He wouldn't yell too loud, knowing how much noise caused Rose to scream out. He couldn't see her tense momentarily, an involuntary reaction to hearing his voice. Inhale. Exhale. Calm. She pulled herself to her feet and joined him in the small dining room. Two plates set on the table, steam rising from them, filling the small space with the scent of tender beef, herbs and an undercurrent of sweetness, the earthy scents of fresh bread, soft beneath its hard crust.

The setting sun glinting through the window, making the small space seem cozier than it had during the harsh light of morning, darker, dimmer, the air of romance permeating the area. He stepped towards her, slowly, reaching to take Rose from her grasp, and Hermione had to fight the urge to run, her mind screaming "Trap! Get out!" Her muscles tensed, squeezing Rose, needing to keep her daughter safe before her rational mind returned her senses and she released her grip, handing over her baby- _to her father_ she had to remind herself.

Her hands twitched, fingers shaking as they looked for something to grasp. She reached for the thin stem of the wine glass before her, feeling the delicate crystal, smooth between nimble digits. She raised it to her lips and sipped at the dark liquid, bittersweet with the taste of dark cherries, burning at her throat as she forced it down, fighting her bodies desire to gag, to force the invading drink out. Hermione gazed intently at Ron as he fastened their daughter tenderly into her high chair, sat between them at the head of the table. She was still too young for anything other than milk, and Ron picked up the bottle, testing its temperature under his wrist before beginning to feed her.

Hermione had to admit, fatherhood suited him, something she'd never have guessed from their schooldays. His fork poked at the chunk of meat on his plate, tearing off small bites that he ate absentmindedly, too focused on feeding Rose. She suppressed a chuckle as he took a bite of metal- the roast had fallen off his fork soon after it was sheared from its place, now dangling off the edge of his plate. He had not noticed it was gone until teeth clanged upon steel. The wine glass, not far from her mouth covered the majority of her face as she hid her reaction to his confused appearance. Some things never changed.

She couldn't help but be reminded of a younger Ron, carefree, before the war, before his unwanted advances, before his crush, when they were just kids, trying to learn magic and find their way in a world much larger than themselves. The Ron that she had been friends with, had ventured into Hogsmeade with, drank pumpkin juice with before the fire and played chess with. A Ron that she had forgotten existed.

He smiled at her, small but there, unsure, as though he didn't realize he'd just said a joke, she expected him to ask "what's so funny?" next. Instead he asked, "So, what'd Apolline have to say?"

Hermione panicked, fear rising in her chest, the wine she had been sipping threatening to change course, she couldn't contain the cough of surprise. The delicate glass hitting the worn wooden table harder than she intended as she struggled to regain her breath. "Sorry, swallowed wrong," she gasped out after a moment, still trying to recover. Ron nodded, his blue eyes still intense, piercing, and focused on her, expecting something more.

"She's still trying to piece it together," Hermione answered cryptically, not wanting to give any more information than necessary, wanting to hide what they shared. She knew she couldn't keep it secret forever, but she hoped it would be long enough. If she could return home, her counterpart may have an easier time resisting the bond, though what was done was done and there would be consequences for that. She frowned as her mind ventured down a path of what ifs.

Ron's eyebrows furrowed, noticing his wife's mannerisms, the change in her behavior. "'Mione?" he prodded gently, "Is there sumthin' wrong?" He reached a paw out, towards her, placing it gently upon her hand, devouring it entirely. The contact unnerving and uncomfortable, awkward in its half-sided unfamiliarity. She couldn't pull away, instead forcing her to turn her hand, wrapping her fingers around his, her thumb tracing the back of his hand, running up and down the bulging vein there.

"No, nothing," came the response, weak and foreign, falling upon her ears, a voice that wasn't hers, but emanated from her, she felt like she was watching someone else controlling her body, offering a silent thanks that they had taken control in this moment.

She ate, forcing food down, hoping that if her mouth was full it would leave little room for conversation, and when she wasn't busy chewing, she was drinking, like a starving beast unsure of when or where its next meal would happen. However, this odd behavior did not go unnoticed, today really was not her day.

But Ron did not comment, not until the meal was drawing to a close, their plates clean, and Hermione had yet to make her escape, a cowards retreat, to the safety of her (their) bedroom, feigning exhaustion. His fingers tightened around hers as she made to pull away.

"Talk to me, love," his voice was tender, a whisper, so light it concealed the pain, the cracking just below the surface, struggling to rise, to rip and tear, shred the calm of the moment, like a wave meeting the shore, looking like a ripple on the horizon, "What's on your mind?"

Hermione pursed her lips, her free hand rubbing at her forehead, she tried to compose herself once more, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, her mind searching for an answer, anything to buy some time. "It's nothing," she spoke, the lie obvious to her, and she hoped less pronounced to him, but knowing he wouldn't believe that, she continued on, "Just... work," surely there could be an issue at work.

"Going back not what you thought?"

Her eyes snapped to his, wide, filled with an emotion she wouldn't be able to identify, something between hope and surprise, but not nearly as positive as those- it was something she could latch onto, something he provided to her, and he would hopefully believe.

"Something like that," her voice was sullen, trailing off, lacking the usual life as she tried to conceal what she really felt.

"I know you were going stir crazy here, being with Rosie every day. It'll just take some time, readjusting back to the old routine. But, you still had some time, you could take another leave, stay home with us you know?" He looked hopeful, the prospect of continuing his time with his family was once again within reach, but he knew he would support her decision, whatever it was she chose (he just hoped it would be them).

She paused for a moment, her tongue darting out, whetting her lips, before she shook her head no, "I can't, I'm sorry. It's not that I don't want to, just, Harry came back and there's a problem, well, there was a problem before, but it's bigger now, and I can't ignore it." She was rambling, defending a choice without need, defending her defense, justifying to him (herself) why she couldn't stay home.

He nodded, pulling his hand back, releasing her, dismissing her. He sat back in his chair, slouching down as she made her escape. Grabbing empty dishes and retreating to the kitchen, desperate to escape. Their plates clattered loudly against the ceramic of the old sink, she leaned forward, bracing herself against the counter. Inhale. Exhale. Her eyes drifted shut. Inhale. Exhale.

Fingers turned white as she gripped the surface, curling into the sink, cutting off circulation. Her shoulders began to shake as her head fell forward, curls cascading down, shielding her face from the world. All the emotions she had been suppressing came bursting forth, breaking the dam and overtaking her as she finally allowed herself to feel everything that had happened that day, that week.

Her lips mouthed a name, spoken softly, "Fleur." She missed the strength of her mate, she missed being able to talk, to laugh and pull her close. She hated having to hide her away, like a dirty secret not fit for this world. Silent tears fell, streaking down porcelain skin, leaving a glistening trail as she refused to make a sound. Her fingers still tight on the sink, her only tether to reality currently.

Ron, thankfully, did not follow her into the kitchen. She heard his heavy footsteps thudding out of the room, fading with each step, heading down the hall towards the bedrooms. It was a problem she would have to solve later, she knew she couldn't run from it forever, but for this moment, just this once, she allowed herself to run.

She pieced herself back together, using her hand to wipe her tears and then drying it on her pants, she straightened out her shirt and proceeded to leave once again. She had no destination in mind, her only requirement that it not be there, not with him, not tonight. Too many secrets were kept from him, things she couldn't say, wouldn't give voice to.

* * *

Waging war with herself was never easy, never a good thing, for Hermione Delacour Granger was a very principled woman. She had a very strict sense of what was right and wrong (though some of her actions during the war had been questionable at best, and definitely justified- she had to survive somehow right? She would still determine that they were very much wrong.)

It was only made worse when she was drinking, especially when she was drinking alone. Nobody around to pull her from her thoughts, she would be swallowed alive by them, consumed entirely within the darkness that still plagued her, all the regrets that she had, and it was only increased now, with the recent turn of events. She'd left her wife behind without a word, not knowing if she could ever return, was married to a clearly, very loving man (definitely not the same as _her_ Ron), and was well on her way to being a homewrecker of not just one, but two homes at the least.

She clutched the frosty glass of her butterbeer in her hand, hunched low over the bar, she barely had to lift it to meet her lips. The froth bubbling up, tickling her nose, the liquid warming her from the inside out, hoping to calm the turmoil she felt but only stirring the pot. She took a long swig of the butterscotch flavored drink, savoring the sweet buzz it would bring, the pint hitting the bar harder than she'd intended, a quick flinch passed across her face.

"Nother, please," she asked, motioning towards the glass, a slight sway to her movements. Was that two? Three? More than that? How long had she been here? She looked around the bar, it was now mostly empty compared to it's full state when she arrived. A few patrons milling about, not minding her presence. There'd been chatter when she arrived, no doubt due to her fame, but the whispers soon faded and she was forgotten and ignored, left to drink in peace.

Another mug was set before her, but before she could grab it, another hand pulled it away. Thin, nimble fingers attached to a pale hand. She looked up, following the hand to an arm, to a torso, and up into sapphire eyes. She reached out, unsure if she was reaching for the mug or for the hand holding it until their fingers connected, touching around icy glass.

"Fleur?" she questioned, unwilling to believe that the blonde was actually standing in front of her now, had managed to find her somehow, was seeing her in this state.

"'Ermione, what are you doing 'ere?" she asked, taking a seat upon the empty stool next to her, she didn't release the mug.

She shook her head, "I don't know, I just couldn't be at home." She retracted her hand, intertwining her fingers as she leaned against the bar. Her voice was close to breaking, "I just, I needed you, and you weren't there," a hint of a whine escaped, the alcohol always made her say too much, left her weak and vulnerable.

The blonde reached out, placing her hand on Hermione's arm, "You could have come over," she hadn't been prepared though, for how strongly Hermione rejected that suggestion.

She shook her head, "No, then I'd have to see you with him." The rest didn't need to be said. Her hands fell limply to her side as she sat back, slouching low in the stool, her back resting against the metal bar that was supposed to be a backrest. Fleur reached out again, her hand finding its place upon her thigh, the blonde's thumb tracing small circles upon the denim beneath. She was now sitting sideways, leaning against the bar, no longer focused on maintaining control of the drink between them.

"Zen, we shall stay 'ere for a moment, where it iz just ze two of us, non?" A dangerous glint sparkled in her eyes as she asked the bartender for a drink of her own.


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry it's a bit short (and late), but I wanted to get something up. Its been a crazy month but hopefully I'll be able to update more frequently, I got a kidney transplant so I'm having to recover now (so, if parts don't make sense, blame the drugs- that was also part of the delay), but I've got a 6 month vacation from work now to focus on other things (like this). Enjoy!

* * *

Hermione smiled at Fleur over the edge of her mug, sipping her coffee, her eyes glinting with a newfound playfulness. She'd been in this new world for a little over a week now, and despite retracing her alter's steps, digging through the notes left behind, the materials present, she didn't feel any progress was being made. Or at least, no progress that really mattered.

She looked away nervously when her chocolate eyes met cerulean, feigning renewed interest in her coffee, blowing on it lightly, watching the steam rise. Her gaze returned to the blonde after a moment, unable to keep from staring. She felt like a nervous schoolgirl.

The dark ceramic of the mug hid the smile playing across her delicate features, softened without the traumas of this world, smoothed over with the birth of her child, the life that she had been able to lead. A moment passed, her gaze focused intently on the dark liquid, nearly invisible, blending with the black of the cup, ebony blending with charcoal, mixing seamlessly as the lights overhead reflected off the sleek surface. She spoke, her voice soft, weak, coming out hoarse "What if-" she paused, clearing her throat, finding her voice, "What if we can stop him?" She didn't need to identify who it was she spoke about, there was never a need.

A slight gasp escaped her companion, wide eyes looking at her, snapping to find hers in a quick motion, a wave sent through blonde, a clatter of silverware hitting the plate beneath them. She continued on, her eyes adjusting their focus, drifting down towards the table, "Well, I just though, rather than hiding, what if we tried to stop him? I've done it once before," she placed her mug back on the table, and her hands moved with a mind of their own, her finger nails running along the groove near the edge of the table, the only imperfection on the polished surface, the sharp edge digging into her fingertip lightly, mirroring the pressure she applied, grounding her as she spoke her thoughts, uninterrupted.

"I mean, I had Harry and Ron with me, but we did it, we won, and maybe, I thought, I could use that knowledge to, to do that again," she finished weakly, losing her voice once again, but this time she forced herself to look up, to meet Fleur's piercing gaze, apprehension evident.

Her fingers continued running up and down the groove, tracing it, wearing it away minutely, little by little, a distance she'd never see, but she felt it, in her fingertips, in her ears where the scraping sound fell. A warm hand reached out, softly, lightly resting upon hers, ceasing her movement. Her hand twisted around, grasping at nimble digits, her thumb tracing lightly against their backs, feeling ridges, cuts and callouses, hands that worked, betraying their own strength. She looked up into fierce eyes, dark and stormy, lacking the ever present love she had grown used to finding, this Fleur was different, more ethereal.

The younger witch would have been terrified of the vision before her if she hadn't known about the bond, she knew Fleur wouldn't ever hurt her, but the logical side of her mind was only so strong, her emotional side? It said the Veela was a threat. She averted her eyes, focusing instead, into the abyss of her mug before her.

"'E 'as taken so much from us, brought ze filth from ze gutter and put it on display," she spoke indignantly, spitting the words out as though they tasted rotten, "I would love nozing more zan to kill ze vermin." Her hand clenched into a fist, hovering slightly above the table, tense, turning her pale skin white as she forced the blood from her fingertips.

Hermione reached out, cautiously, tentatively placing a hand on top of her mates, trying to reassure her, to calm her. Glowing sapphire orbs looked up, connecting with chocolate, grounding her, pulling her back from the edge, a light pressure connecting her to reality. Slowly her anger began to fade, her emotions settling as she was reminded there wasn't a physical threat.

"Sorry," she mumbled, her eyes drifting shut as her breathing evened out. Hermione squeezed her hand gently, unspoken words passing between them, acceptance, forgiveness. The meaning behind her gesture was clear, this was her mate, even if it wasn't her, they had the same mannerisms, the same touches, thoughts, feelings- at least, she suspected that last part.

Her fist unclenched and turned over, fingers wrapping around each other, clasping her mate's hand, thumb stroking the soft skin it found, tracing small circles as it ran over the tendons, following a path along the vein, slightly raised, collapsing under the digit as their paths crossed.

The younger woman relaxed at the familiar contact, repetition had always calmed her nerves, brought her comfort in the smallest of ways, the sureness it offered as they connected, sharing shy smiles, enjoying the newness of their relationship.

"So, does zat mean you are staying?" It was quiet, barely above a mumble, dying as it reached its destination, going no further than the ears of its intended, as though someone else may overhear accidentally, this forbidden information, a secret that would only be shared between the two.

The brunette's smile faded, her eyes dropping to the table and she pulled back unconsciously, folding in upon herself, "I'm not sure." Her voice didn't match the ferocious woman, didn't seem to belong to her, not this time, weak and unassuming, "I would like to return home, to my daughter, but I don't think it's up to me." She spoke honestly, painfully, cracking and hoarse.

She paused, her eyes unfocused, shiny and overflowing with emotion. She swallowed thickly, her hand coming to rest upon the table, fingers outstretched. It inched along slowly, creeping across the polished wood, cautiously moving forward, seeking contact with the cool skin of her mate. Lithe digits wrapped loosely around curled fingers, "But maybe it won't be so bad here?"

* * *

A pen turned between nimble fingers, _tap tap tap_ as the plastic bounced off the table below, filling the silence of the library as its holder was lost deep in thought. A blank piece of parchment sat beneath her wrists, the same place as it had been for the past couple hours as she stared off into space, a look of concentration filling her face. Her bottom lip pulled between her teeth as she continued to worry at it, her brow creased.

A pause, a sigh, and the tapping stopped, and she finally spoke, breaking the heavy mood. "I think, we can establish some generalizations, our two worlds, they're not the same, they diverge at one major point though- that being my Fourth year. I'm sure there are some other points that are different but, without having my counterpart here, or anyone that we could really use to verify changes, we'll have to start with the tournament." The pen in her hand traced out lines upon the paper as she spoke, preparing the surface for a chart of some sort.

"You've already mentioned a few differences, mostly in regards to our relationship, and those are probably the most drastic given the lack of one in my world," she paused, her eyes looking up to meet Fleur's searching for agreement. She continued upon receiving a nod from the older woman, "But I would wager that there are other smaller changes as well, ones of varying import on our current predicament, I strongly doubt that the only change was the nature of our relationship."

"Now, you said Harry had died at the Battle and that Ron was now a Death Eater?" She scribbled those down, off to the side, in a column of differences (she'd left off their relationship so far).

"There's got to be something leading up to that point, Ron wouldn't do that, not without a reason. What about the horcruxes though? In my world, Ron left for a little, when we had the locket, before we could destroy it. He'd been angry with it."

"I zink, 'e still 'ad it at Shell Cottage. Zough I do not know if 'e 'ad taken it wiz 'im," Fleur commented, her features screwed up in contemplation as she spoke slowly.

Hermione made a note of that, "Do you know what we'd managed to destroy here?" Her eyes still focused upon the parchment before her.

Fleur began to count off her fingers, "Zere was ze diary, zen ze ring, zen ze cup, and ze diadem, I do not know if ze locket exists, and I zink zat iz it."

Hermione frowned, "Harry died, so that's another. That leaves Nagini and possibly the locket."

"Ze snake?" Fleur was unable to conceal her surprise at Hermione's mention of the slithering devil.

She nodded, "Yeah, do you think she could have died?"

"Mmm, no, I don't zink so," Fleur said seriously, "she iz a magical creature, she could live a long time."

"Right, so we should assume there are at least two horcruxes out there still, unless he's created more since then. And I don't even want to contemplate how bad that could be." She ran her hand through her curls, pushing it back out of her face, exhaling slowly.

Fleur nodded, "It would be best we start wiz ze known and zen worry about ze possibilities if 'e is not dead after zat."

"Nagini is always with him, so," Hermione reached for the map, "the problem becomes, where is he, and how do we get to him?" she spoke lowly, her voice barely audible as she studied the illustration before her, chocolate eyes focusing intensely as they scanned over the page as though hoping an 'x' would appear.

* * *

They worked long into the evening, deciding to focus on how to destroy the two horcruxes rather than worrying about their location. Hermione knew what had worked the first time, but if those two were the only ones left, they may not have the element of surprise like they had previously. It would stand to reason, if there were only two left, they would be heavily guarded and very well hidden.

At some point, they'd moved from the hard wooden chairs of the library to the plush couches of the living room, their uncomfortable memories already painful enough, there was no need to add to their discomfort. The fireplace crackled and popped, casting hues of orange and yellow across the room. Long shadows danced across the polished floor as the two women spoke of a distant time that seemed only a dream now.

She'd ended up recounting a good amount of what had happened the first time, pointing out issues that they'd had before- things that hadn't actually destroyed the items. The locket especially had given them issues, having resisted their attempts for months. Her fingers absentmindedly traced over the word carved in her arm as she recalled those dark times.

Fleur's eyes drifted towards the motion, her hand reaching out take hold of the brunette's, stilling it in its tracks. Hermione swallowed nervously, realizing what she was doing, her eyes glistened as she looked away. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more," Fleur whispered, whetting her lips as she forced back her emotions as well.

Hermione leaned against Fleur, falling into her, "Don't apologize, I'm sure you did everything you could." Her eyes clouded over with pain, wincing at the memory of being tortured at Bellatrix's hand. Her gaze drifted downward, focusing on the floor as her body shuddered.

Fleur wrapped her arms around Hermione, pulling her in closely, she continued to whisper, "She's gone, you're safe," the last part becoming a mantra as she clutched Hermione to her. It appeared this Hermione had not fared much better against the dark witch. How she regretted not being able to save either of them.

* * *

The brunette woke up, hearing muffled voices coming from the kitchen. She strained to listen in to what was being said, unable to remember so much as going to bed the night before. Confusion plagued her mind before she finally rose from the warm embrace of the heavy comforter to face the stress of the day. She shuffled her way to the closet and grabbed a pair of sweat pants and a hoodie, she wanted to be comfortable despite not knowing who it was that was currently in her house. Hermione pulled her unruly curls back into a messy ponytail, simply keeping it out of her face as she made her way towards the source of the noise.

She had barely entered the kitchen when she was assaulted by a tiny toddler sized missile. Leo had launched himself from the table and latched on to Hermione's legs. "Aunt 'Mione!" he cried out, his voice filled with excitement at seeing his favorite aunt. The English witch was temporarily stunned, her eyes wide, displaying her surprise to the world as her arms moved to embrace the young boy.

Fleur smiled, looking up from her conversation, "Good morning," she greeted, her smile bright as her sapphire eyes drank in the casual elegance of her mate. There was nothing that would cause her to think the woman before her anything but beautiful, but this version was one of her favorites, one that rarely made an appearance, especially in front of others. Hermione had never cared much for what others thought, but following the war, she had began to dress more professionally, more serious, betraying the loss of her youth and the scars that had been left behind. She had refused to allow the world to see the marks it had made, the childhood it had stolen.

She wasn't uptight by any means, still wearing jeans most of the time, but sweats were not normal, and t-shirts never happened without a jacket or or some type of shirt on top of them. She'd try to hide the physical wounds of the past whenever she could. "Morning, I'd wondered who I heard."

"Sorry, we didn't mean to wake you," Fleur responded, her eyes downcast, voice apologetic, her fingers fidgeted with the cup of coffee on the table.

Hermione managed to free herself from the unrelenting grasp of Leo, taking his hand and pulling him back to the table where she took his vacated seat. The smallest blonde of the group eagerly hopped up to sit on her lap, his smile wide as he showed off the gap in his teeth. Hermione smiled at him and listened to his disconnected rant as she reached out to take hold of Fleur's hand, squeezing it gently.

Gabrielle sat across from her, a cup of tea clenched between her hands as she watched her son as he babbled away, waving his arms wildly as he spoke, she couldn't help but smile. He was so happy and relaxed, enjoying the freedoms of childhood. "I know zat Maman pesters you often enough, but I cannot help but zink, you two would be good parents," she mused, her comment directed at Fleur, though her eyes cut to Hermione.

"Mmm," Fleur answered noncommittally as she feigned interest in her mug once more, raising it to take a drink of the steaming liquid. Though her eyes did drift towards the brunette. It was all the answer Gaby needed.

"Well, I am sorry, but I must cut zis short," Gaby said, her tone firm as her palms rested upon the table and she pushed up to stand,"I must 'ead to work now, I'll pick up Leo around seven."

Fleur nodded and Hermione finally broke away from Leo's chatter, offering a quick farewell before attempting to usher Leo off to do the same. He slid off her lap and made his way to his mother's side, squeezing her legs as he continued to tell Hermione about a recent accident he'd had involving a training broom and the geese that called the small pond home.

However as soon as his mother left, he stopped his story, midword and turned to Fleur, a mischievous glint to his blue eyes, "Can we go to the shelter?" he asked, his voice betraying his eagerness to play with the animals.

Leo hadn't waited for an answer before grabbing their hands and pulling the two women towards the door, setting off on the journey towards the small town, Fleur tossing a carefree smile towards Hermione who laughed as she tried to maintain her balance.

* * *

That evening, Hermione found herself looking at a picture of domesticity that she had never ever thought possible, much less something that she would be privy to. Leo had insisted upon dino nuggets for dinner, the fascination with the creatures not confined solely to muggle children. He had a pile of poorly shaped beasts upon his plate, surrounding their ketchup lake, hidden within the french fry forest he'd imagined.

Fleur had taken a seat next to him, an equally full plate in front of her as the pair made growling sounds at each other, their nuggets currently involved in a life or death battle. Fleur's stegosaurus was currently defending against Leo's t-rex. Hermione leaned back against the counter, arms crossed against her chest, watching as they played. She bit back the urge to chastise them (comments reminiscent of the "don't play with your food" that she had received from her own mother), instead popping a fry into her mouth.

A 'pop' from the living room signaled Gaby's arrival, she called out "We're in here," Fleur's stegosaurus was losing and she'd resorted to simply biting the head off of Leo's t-rex and claiming victory, much to the protest of Leo. He'd turned to her and begun to tell her Fleur had cheated when his mother walked into the room.

It was forgotten in favor of darting out of his seat, a shriek of "Mommy!" accompanying the blonde haired blur that rocketed across the kitchen. Fleur turned to look at her sister being attacked by her spawn, a smile reappearing on her face. She jumped slightly as she felt fingers gliding across her back, leaving a trail of tingles in their wake. Her attention returned to the brunette that was distracting her, teasingly so.

The pounding of shoes on the floor signaled the return of Leo, quickly squeezing the pair tightly before darting back to his mother, "See you next week!" he called out before they left.

She felt fingers trailing up her arm and looked nervously over at her mate, unsure of what had sparked this affection. They'd been close, but this wasn't her Hermione, and it had taken hers more than a week to feel confident enough to start anything.

Long, nimble fingers reached out, covering Hermione's, stopping her ministrations. "'Ermione," Fleur whispered, her voice failing her, feeling weak and unfamiliar, "you don't 'ave to do zis."

She knew they'd done more, before, but that, well, that she reasoned was probably just a lapse in judgement, a bad decision, impulses, a lack of consequences, something that would not be repeated. But she had been unprepared for the flash of pain, brief as it was, that passed across Hermione's features.

Her face fell, turning cold, closed off as her eyes hardened slightly. She cleared her throat and pulled her hand back, collapsing in upon herself, like a slap upon her cheek, Fleur felt a sting of emotion, instantly regretting her choice of words. She had meant them, Hermione didn't have to please her, not that way, not in any way if she didn't want to, she didn't want the younger witch to feel as though she was being forced into the situation, forced into a marriage she had not accepted.

Only a moment had passed before the brunette pushed up from her chair, taking her leave in silence, driving the divide between them further.

Fleur sat there for a moment, her mind still racing to catch up with what had happened, and then she found herself, her feet moving on autopilot, guiding her to follow after her mate. She wished for a moment, her mind had been in control, when she found herself standing in Hermione's room, _their_ room.

Curls swayed and twisted, revealing the reddened face of the pale Brit, eyes glistening, "What?" she spat, forced vitriol in her tone.

It broke Fleur, crashing down upon her, an avalanche of emotion, running unchecked, swallowing everything in its path. She reached out, her fingers light, but grip firm, clasping around her wrist, pulling her close, a shallow imitation of the movements that started it all.

Her arms found purchase around the smaller woman, engulfing her slender frame, burying her face into Hermione's neck, her voice was weak, choked as she worked out the sound, trying to fight a sob. "I did not mean to 'urt you. I only meant zat I would not force you to do anyzing zat you do not want. I do not 'ave any expectations zat you should take ze place of your," she paused for a moment, her mind searching for an appropriate word before settling upon one, "counterpart."

She tried not to startle as she felt firm hands embrace her back, providing physical comfort, a gentle question was asked, "Did it ever occur to you that you could never force me to do anything I don't want?" There was a hint of teasing to her words, pulling a chuckle from her.

"Zat sounds like a challenge mon amour," she teased back, pulling away slightly, her eyes glinting.

Hermione had barely a second to brace herself before she felt Fleur's muscles ripple as her hands relocated themselves upon her body, forcing a laugh to erupt from deep within. She tried to force the blonde off of her, to defend herself as the other woman's hands roamed her body, finding her most sensitive spots, continuing to tickle her.

She lightly slapped at the misbehaving appendages, pushing and shoving, but found that she'd gone soft with time, something that the older woman hadn't. They moved backwards, until the backs of her knees collided with the edge of the mattress and she fell as they gave out on her, a yelp escaping between bursts of laughter. A breathy "stop" passing between them.

Fleur paused only a moment, climbing upon the bed, pinning the brunette beneath her, "Mmm, no."

Hermione realized her extreme disadvantage, but she could be a strategist too, she only had one thing on her side, she was on the bottom, and Fleur was on top of her.

She squirmed beneath the blonde, purposefully, feeling the air shift between them as her mate fell forward, hands now located on either side of her head, hovering just above her, her eyes darkening with lust.

Hermione smiled coyly up at her before stretching slightly, closing the distance between them. Their lips connected, softly, tentatively at first, exploring and testing, scared to push too far too fast.

This wasn't their first kiss, but it was the first they'd shared in private, without prying eyes or expectations, their first not fueled by alcohol in drunken need. It was just them, theirs.

Her hands moved as though guided by an invisible force, seeking out and connecting with Fleur, one tangling in her hair as the other came to rest just above the curve of her hip. She pulled her mate closer, feeling want pooling low in her belly, deepening the kiss until they both felt the need for air become too much.

They broke apart slowly, their bodies staying close, melded into one, separated only by clothes. Hermione smiled and whispered, "I win," before their mouths reconnected.


	13. Chapter 13

AN: warning: this is a dark chapter, alternate Hermione isn't doing so well in her new world this chapter. but it'll explore the last 8 years for her a little bit more in depth

* * *

Much later, when the sky was a dark navy blue and the only light was from the twinkling of stars overhead, two women could be seen stumbling out of the bar, their arms wrapped around shoulders, bodies leaning towards the other, they carried on, oblivious to the world beyond. Their attention was solely on the other woman as they continued to drift closer.

They spoke in gentle tones, not quite whispers, their voices carrying upon the gentle breeze as they spoke words of love, words of affection, the attraction between them hanging heavy, thick between them, dense as their desires rose, a sobering intensity clinging to their skin.

Hermione's chocolate eyes met sapphire blue, drifting closer as she lost her will to resist what was happening, the alcohol in her blood pressing her to take her wife, her mate, they belonged together, not apart. Their lips met, lightly, ghosting together briefly, experimenting, testing the waters, but that moment of contact was enough to ignite a fire deep within their bellies.

They were drawn together again, urgently, a new passion sparking to life, combusting within then. Sobering the pair quickly as their minds caught up with their actions and they pulled apart once more, Fleur attempting to straighten her clothes as her hands sought out purchase on something firm, something to ground her once more as she wanted nothing more than to pull her mate back to her. Hermione meanwhile wanted nothing more than to take her mate home, she leaned forward, missing the connection she had grown used to and missed for so long.

"Stop," the word came out as a hoarse whisper, barely more than a movement of lips and a puff of air, but that single syllable echoed in her ears, reverberating in her mind.

"Please," she answered, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, shining with the pain of rejection, her hand drifting out, edging its way towards the blonde who took a step back, shaking her head.

"We can't," she spoke, cracking as she forced the words out, barely able to reject her mate but feeling it as though a thousand knives were cutting into her, flaying the skin from her body as she fought to maintain some control, the Veela within her thrashing about, determined to give in to her mate.

Hermione gave a small nod, the movement barely perceptible as her hand dropped back to her side and she clenched her fists, "I think..." she paused, drawing out the gap of her words, swallowing thickly, "It's best we don't see each other much then." And she apparated away, returning to a home that was not hers and a husband that she did not take and a daughter she did not birth in a world she did not belong, rejected by the only one she had ever imagined growing old with.

She arrived outside the cottage with a small pop, stumbling her way up the cobblestone path as she pushed her way through the door, tears clouding her vision, she tripped over the arm rest of the well-worn couch and fell into it heavily, finally letting her emotion come pouring out until she drifted off into a restless sleep.

Dreams of happier times came, images of a world she didn't know if she could return to, a world with no Dark Lord, her mate by her side, laughing and joking as the splashed about in the water with their children, both miniature clones of their fairer skinned mother, platinum blonde hair blowing in the wind as they splashed each other with salty water, high pitched shrieks bursting forth every time they were hit. Ebbing back and forth as the waves crashed upon the beach, they were a family, feeling complete as a unit, wanting nothing more than what they had before them.

It made waking up that much harder, and she spent too much time trying to return to that dream world, to escape the pain of reality when it all came crashing down, her heart clinging desperately to the weightless feeling of joy that had filled her that night. The morning was only made that much worse when she finally had to wake up when she was met with the disapproving glare of Ron and the pounding of a hangover in her mind, her mouth dry and cottony, her vision still spinning, his blue eyes watched her coldly, so much like that of his alter's, reminding her that she was here trapped in this nightmare.

For a moment she regretted her decision, but only a moment as it was interrupted by his gruff voice, "And where were you all night? Getting drunk like some irresponsible teenager?" Anger tinged his words as his eyes flashed with intensity, jealousy maybe?

She flinched at his hard words, waiting for more, waiting for the Ron she knew to lash out, to display his anger as he so often had, she felt herself cower under the weight of his gaze. She'd been caught off guard and was unable to defend herself, he hand the upper hand as he stood towering over her. He folded in on himself, seeing her reaction, it wasn't like the Hermione he knew, though this was the same woman, he'd noticed her behavior was rather unusual the past few days, she'd been distant, withdrawn from him, the only person she'd wanted anything to do with was Fleur, and they'd barely interacted in the past, like two magnets, they'd pushed each other way, and then something flipped and they pulled each other in.

He sank down on the chair behind him, his head dropping to his hands as a mumbled 'sorry' escaped. Hermione stared at the unfamiliar man, sitting in the corner of the couch now, her knees pulled to her chin. She regarded him, unblinking, panic filling her mind, clutching at her chest, her fingers turning white as the clutched at the dark denim of her jeans, afraid to breathe as Ron sat there, his shoulders hunched, head cradled in his hands, unwilling to look up from the floor.

Sweat coated the palms of her hands as she waited for him to make a move, to lash out, to attack her, berate her for who she was, what she was, not that he knew, she realized that, but logic struggled to win out against her anxiety addled mind. She planned out escape routes, focusing on what her next course of action would be with his next movement, but nothing prepared her for what he did actually do.

He took a deep breath, his shoulders shuddering with the movement, hands running through short, red locks, tugging lightly at the strands caught between nimble digits, blue eyes looking up to finally meet her chocolate brown orbs. Releasing his hold, he slowly released his breath, blowing streaks of red up and out of his eyes as he'd done so frequently in school when he was unable to master a spell, when he'd needed a moment to collect himself, images of the innocent boy she'd known swam to the surface.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean what I said, I didn't mean it to come out so harsh, you're an adult, an individual who can do what she wants without needing my permission. I was just worried when I didn't hear from you and it caused me to lash out, you didn't deserve it. I just worry that something will happen to you, that you'll end up hurt and I'll lose you, but I can also recognize that reacting like that will push you away. I'm working on being better, but sometimes I fail, and for that, I truly am sorry." His gaze never wavered from hers as he spoke, his eyes reflecting remorse for his actions, something that had been missing in her Ron.

Hermione was floored, unable to form words as she had not expected anything near that combination of words to come out, much less coherently, from him. She was dumbstruck and could only nod to show that she had heard him. He smiled before excusing himself, "I'll just go check on Rose," was the last thing he said before he left the room.

But it had made Hermione wonder, as his words circulated in her mind, what exactly it was that had happened between them, what was he trying to work on, and more importantly, what had prompted him to need to work on whatever _it_ was. She wondered if maybe he'd almost been left before, maybe their marriage wasn't as happy as others thought. (What did others think about them anyways? She'd really only spent time with Fleur and _that_ wasn't exactly going to be an unbiased opinion.)

She finally managed to calm down, having worked through her breathing exercises enough to calm her anxiety, her space and time away from Ron helping ease the worry that she'd constantly been surrounded by since stepping into her home releasing its grip just enough, she stood from her spot on the couch, standing on shaky legs like a newborn foal just learning to walk and made her way towards her bedroom. She needed to change into something else, something that didn't remind her of the disappointment of being rejected by her mate, of needing time and space from the one who she was supposed to be able to rely on, the only one who could so completely break her.

Her closet was full of maternity clothes, leftovers from her pregnancy, reminders that she shared a daughter with her enemy, she had to fight back a gag as bile forced its way from her stomach. She closed her eyes, her hands clenching at her side as she took another deep breath, today was going to be a bad day, she could feel it. Hermione forced her eyes open and her hands to relax after a moment, taking a deep breath and forcing fear from her mind, she would be safe, she was alone, she could handle herself, she was prepared. It was only a closet.

She found an old t-shirt, the logo upon it unfamiliar to her eyes, and a pair of dark fitted jeans, probably from before her pregnancy, they still fit her childless body like a second skin and a pair of beat up tennis shoes. A more relaxed look than she supposed her alternate self would wear from the looks of the pregnancy clothes, or simply because they were pregnancy clothes she'd had to wear something different than her normal style. She supposed her answer would be found soon enough.

As Hermione walked back down the hallway towards the door, freedom just a few feet away, she called out, unsure where Ron was, "I'm going out," still unwilling to completely reveal herself to him, it was a simple enough concession, she didn't bother to stay and wait for a reply, she didn't think she could handle seeing him again, not this soon at least. Her mind reminded her that he could snap at any moment, and what then? How weak would she show herself to be in his presence?

The door clicked shut behind her as she stepped out into the bright sunlight, afternoon already upon her, warming her freckled cheeks as she was finally able to take a deep breath, releasing the remaining tension from her body as her shoes tapped lightly upon the stone walkway towards the gate. She would be free soon enough, he would be unable to hurt her, just a memory as she passed through the gate and turned down the path leading away from her prison. The bright red painted upon the door of their cottage reminding her too much of the blood shed at his hands, held safely behind a white picket fence, seemingly innocent and clean, concealing the horrors inside.

The brunette paused for a moment, taking in the space around her, ensuring nobody was nearby, the purpose of the countryside retreat, before apparating to Grimmauld Place, she had learned that was where Harry and Ginny had taken up residence in this world. It hadn't surprised her, not really, it had after all been the Order's headquarters, and it only made sense.

The Boy Who Lived would always be reminded of his role, of his importance, the destiny thrust upon him at his birth, there was no way he'd ever escape it and may as well embrace it. At least this time, he'd gotten the chance, he'd been able to embrace it instead of running from it, been supported instead of left to stand on his own.

She'd disappeared from her spot with a loud crack, like a roll of thunder, dark and stormy, rumbling with danger, appearing again a moment later with a flash of lightning, breaking across the sky, filling the air with static, sharp and crisp. The stained and world weary face of Grimmauld Place stood out against the brightness of the summer day surrounding it. The structure was no longer dilapidated and crumbling, looking as though it may give way any moment as it had been previously, as she was sure it continued to be without an owner. The brick facade of the building was still near black, streaked with dirt from storm water, years of buildup that needed to be power washed away, stone gargoyles towering over passersby, looking ominous as their faces contorted in growls, long claws digging into their pedestals, the only real change to the exterior was the door had been given a new coat of paint, though it was still black as night.

It was like returning to an odd sort of home, her heart felt light as she was welcomed by familiar surroundings, she practically ran up the walk before remembering herself and knocking on the door. Years had passed since the last time she had been here, the last time it had been safe, in 5th year, just before the killing began, before the war was acknowledged by the Ministry. They'd only returned a couple of times afterwards, but it wasn't for long, it wasn't safe. Hermione hesitated only a moment, with her fist raised, ready to knock, she'd been lost in her memories momentarily, memories of a dark time, of events that had never come to pass here, events that only she'd experienced.

Only a moment had passed, the blink of an eye, the beat of a heart, a second of doubt, the start of a worry, before the door swung open and she was met with the bright face of Ginny Weasley, shining green eyes and blinding white smile. Her fire engine red hair was still just as she remembered, though slightly shorter and curled lightly at the ends, a more mature cut than the one she'd had back at Hogwarts, but she wasn't that teenager anymore now was she?

Hermione was pulled into a tight hug without notice, gripped closely as a greeting was whispered into her ear, she felt as though she was intruding on the close relationship, one not earned by her but belonging to her alter and to the woman she'd once called her best friend. In another life. After. Before she'd left. Before she'd been on the run with Fleur, but when she'd had no one else left. It had been Ginny.

She clung to the woman before her, shorter but stockier, her lean body not budging as Hermione pulled her in tighter, trying to get closer as tears threatened to fall. She could feel her muscles tensing beneath her shirt, "I've got you, it's okay now, whatever it is, it's okay, I've got you," whispered in her ear as drops of that salty liquid finally broke out from behind their dam.

They stood like that til that bitter water dried up, the only evidence left behind a ring of red surrounding chocolate, she wiped her face of the sleeve of that ratty old t-shirt and followed the younger woman inside, pulled along, unable to resist, she was drawn towards the sitting room, a worn flower print couch rested against the wall opposite the fire place.

She was sat upon it for only a moment before Harry poked his head in, "Who was at the door Gin?" he queried, not yet noticing the disheveled form of their guest. Ginny only answered with a tilt of her head, Harry following the motion with his eyes, "Oh, sorry, dint see ya there," came the sheepish response, his head ducking and hand going up to his neck in that familiar nervous gesture, his cheeks tinted ever so slightly pink in embarrassment.

Hermione only nodded, still unwilling to trust her voice, afraid it might go out on her with all the emotions she was feeling, had been feeling in such a short time. The negatives barely outweighing the good of having everyone alive and together still, but even that was a reminder of what all she had lost with the war. A visualization of what could have been, what would have been that she had never attempted on her own to imagine but was now thrust unceremoniously beneath her nose.

What was worse was she couldn't talk to anyone about what she was feeling, was unwilling to destroy their happiness, their carefully constructed lives, of which she was only passing through, to cause problems for herself to deal with later. But the people before her, they were her friends, they had always been there for her, if only she could trust them with this.

She felt herself beginning to fall apart once again. Her body shaking, trembling under the weight it carried, the exertion it took to simply stay upright. Ginny sank into the sofa next to her, pulling the brunette into her arms, offering what little sanctuary she could while not yet understanding what had happened, what had caused her friend to behave like this.

* * *

Hours passed and she found a glass of firewhiskey being slid into her hand, gripping the cool tumbler tightly, she raised it to her lips and began to drink, savoring the burn of the alcohol as it crept its way down her throat, warming her from the inside out. She shook her head slightly as she finished the drink before setting the cup back down on the table before her.

She wasn't sure how she'd ended up here exactly, last recalling trying to pull herself together as her friends looked on helplessly, trying to offer what comfort they could.

Another shot was poured, and again she drank, wishing desperately to feel numb, to disconnect from the reality she had been faced with. Not for the first time since her arrival did she find herself wishing to return to the world where they had lost, the world where she had found Fleur, where she had managed to marry her mate. And then she chastised herself as she realized she wished for the world in which her friends had all died or betrayed her, and how was that even sane? How wrong of her was it to put her happiness over the lives of her friends, the ones here comforting her now?

Hermione raised the glass once again, tipping the amber liquid back before roughly setting the glass down, reaching for the bottle already to pour another. Her thoughts were none to pleasant right now and she could only hope that eventually, with enough luck, the alcohol would wash them away, absolve her of the guilt they brought forth within her mind.

Ginny reached out, gently placing her fingers upon Hermione's wrist, an attempt at slowing her movements, feeling the woman tense beneath her, she couldn't help but recoil slightly, seeking out Hermione's eyes with her own, searching deep within for some hint of what was happening. The brunette stared straight ahead, her eyes staring blankly before her, unseeing as life passed.

She drank down the shot as her vision filled with memories, flashbacks of times better off forgotten, snippets of events, emotions, barely coherent thoughts.

_Hermione had been so happy, the night of the Yule Ball was finally upon them, and she had spent the day preparing herself. She would be going on the arm of one Fleur Delacour, and it had set her nerves into overdrive, her mind panicking as this would be her first public appearance with another woman in a situation possibly seen as romantic._

_She wasn't sure how Fleur intended the night to go for them, but she would find out soon enough, her body tingling in a strange anticipation she had yet to feel before._

_Ron, though he'd always been pleasant before was a real nightmare that night, shooting daggers at her, his eyes always fixed upon her as she danced with the blonde, he'd scoff and look away for only a second every time she caught him. Until finally, he'd swaggered up to her, when Fleur had left to get them some drinks, she'd barely been gone a second when there he was next to her._

_The string of slurs that escaped his mouth shocked her, her jaw hitting the ground as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, her fingers clenching into fists at her side. She fought the urge to run, but couldn't stand there and take his abuse anymore. A loud crack rang out as she let loose, punching him squarely in the nose, breaking it as blood began to gush forth._

_Fleur was at her side in a moment, arm wrapped around her waist, pulling the smaller woman into her body, reaching out to inspect her knuckles, murmuring a healing charm under her breath as Ron retreated from the Great Hall. _

_He'd apologized the next day, saying he'd not meant any of it, just couldn't get over the shock of the two of them together, hadn't thought she was like that, though his apology was laced with vitriol, she couldn't bare to lose her friend and accepted it, urging herself to keep her burgeoning affections towards the French woman to herself. It wouldn't be too hard after all, nothing had happened between them, nothing that wasn't anything more than friendship._

* * *

_It didn't stop Ron from watching her closely, eyeing her every action, every interaction with another female as though he was sure, she'd never felt so controlled in her life._

_His actions came to a head later, when they had left school before their last year, hiding out in Grimmauld Place. He'd been overbearing, treating her as though she was his, jealous over her actions towards Harry, their late night conversation, planning and strategizing which, while it had been Ron's forte, he had shown little interest in._

_They'd gotten the locket, and Ron had kept control of it, insisting he should be the one to bear its burden. But then he disappeared in the night. Harry and Hermione had continued on, but he'd returned a couple days later, making up some excuse about needing to see his family. Neither of them had believed him, but they'd pretended to for his sake, he would talk when he was ready._

_His mood was better, lighter, he was more relaxed than he'd been in some time and the pair were glad to have their friend back, they would overlook whatever it was he had felt he needed to do when he left. She'd later had her suspicions as to what it was that he'd done exactly with his time._

The witch returned to herself later, pulling free of her stupor, reaching for the bottle once more and this time, she decided to forego the glass, it was an unnecessary step after all. Her two friends sat at the worn wooden table across from her. Concern shone in their eyes as they watched her actions, unfamiliar for the woman they knew.

"Mione?" It was Harry who spoke first, "What happened?"

The curly haired brunette couldn't help but let out a self-deprecating chuckle as she took another swig from the bottle, "More like what didn't happen," her voice was dark, full of pain and self-contempt, her words harsh and poisonous, stinging as they lashed out.

Ginny's turn, "You know you can talk to us, about anything, we're here." Her words were soft, meant to encourage, but not this time, she wouldn't let it work, wouldn't be free of her thoughts so easily.

"You want to know, do you?" She paused, waiting for a nod or some gesture to continue on, "See, here's the thing, I don't think you could handle the truth, I don't think you actually know what you want, because you certainly wouldn't want to know this." Her words belied a challenge, one the pair of Gryffindors wouldn't let go easily, she'd laid her words out as bait, waiting for them to snatch it up, to push her to continue on as her tongue became freer with her truths.

She continued on, taking another swallow, relishing in the burn of alcohol as it relaxed her mind, her words began to slur slightly as her thoughts meandered, turning towards their darker sides, "I don't belong here, this isn't for me, but where I do belong, I can't be there. I was and I didn't realize what I had, I thought I could fix it all, I thought I could change things, but I realized after it was too late, I don't want it to change, not if it means this, not without her, I can't do it." She clutched the bottle closer to her body, trying to draw strength from the liquid it contained, taking another drink, she'd lost track of how much it was that she'd had now, her mind was swimming, her thoughts barely contained, barely forming any sort of coherent string.

"I love her so much, you know? She was perfect, we were perfect, but then I let her go, I tried to fix something that didn't need fixing and I lost her, she doesn't want me now." Her eyes were once again brimming with unshed tears as she focused on the table before her, searching out the marks that scarred its surface, the lines across the varnish that broke its smooth shine, the fluctuations in the color of the wood that had once been alive. Mentally, she compared it to the relationship that she had given up, perfect in its depths, but superficially marred with imperfections, with challenges and scars, wounds that would never heal, deaths that they had weathered together and come out stronger for. They were meant to be perfect for each other, to complete the other and make something stronger than either could be on their own, but it had not come easy at any point, they had had their challenges, they had fought their own battles, their own wars and come out on the other side, but she'd tossed it away at a chance for what?

"Who, Hermione, who is it you're talking about?" That soft voice spoke once more, tearing her from her musings.

She glanced up, ochre meeting olive, echoes of pain, haunted but ever present as she spoke only a name, "Fleur," her voice cracking as she forced out the sound, hoarse and sobering.

Hermione didn't notice the confused looks shared between Ginny and Harry as she returned her focus to the table before her, not taking another drink, her hand that had been clenched around the bottle dropped to the golden surface and her thumbnail began tracing the grain of the wood beneath it, running short lines up and down, she bit her lip, sucking it between her teeth as her nervousness betrayed itself.

Ginny stood from her chair, nodding at Harry, telling him wordlessly to stay there as she left the room as quickly as she could.

"So, uh, Fleur?" He tried to sound lighthearted, but it probably came out more as confusion than anything, "Tell me about that." There was no hiding his curiosity as he'd never really seen the pair interact before Shell Cottage, but by then the blonde had been married. And honestly, an affair seemed so out of character for both of them, he just couldn't see it happening, so that had left their Fourth Year. Admittedly, he'd been a bit distracted that year, what with the Triwizard Tournament, but he'd remembered her going to the ball with Krum, and quite a bit of time with her trying to help him stay alive, when had she had time to pursue a relationship with anyone else?

He wasn't sure he'd actually get an answer to his question, but he was surprised when she did actually begin to talk, though her words were still slurred and difficult to understand, he'd just hoped to keep her distracted for long enough, at least until his wife returned. He wasn't sure what she was up to, but he did have a hunch, and he wouldn't be surprised if his hunch was correct.

"She'd stolen my book, well, not really, we'd bumped into each other and she'd picked it up. It was kind of embarrassing so I'd run away without thinking, but then I needed my book back. She'd refused at first, holding it hostage, until finally I'd agreed to go to the carriage with her to get it back."

_Hermione had been pulled inside the carriage and the door shut quickly behind her, she'd shot Fleur a questioning glance as the other woman hastily explained, "Don't want to let in ze cold air, ze carriage is less drafty, 'owever it does take time to warm up."_

_She'd tossed her explanation over her shoulder as she pulled the other witch along behind her, walking in long elegant strides, forcing the younger woman to hurry as she followed, barely refraining from tripping over her own awkward feet as she wanted to take in all the details of the palace like structure contained within the unassuming mode of transport._

_They'd stopped finally outside of a white painted door with golden letters scrawled across it reading Fleur Delacour in ornate script._

_Once the door was shut firmly behind them, Fleur turned on the curly haired brunette, who stood rocking back and forth, shifting between her feet as she looked nervously around the room, feeling similar to a mouse being cornered by a cat. Fleur, being the cat, had her hands clasped behind her back as she stalked around the younger student, a predatory look in her piercing blue eyes. "So, you are curious about ze Veela, non?"_

_The question, innocent though it was, sounded like a threat upon her ears, she swallowed nervously and nodded her head, unwilling to trust her voice at the moment, feeling the intensity of the look upon her._

_"Bon," a smile broke out across her face, "zen, I suggest you ignore zat piece of trash and ask a real Veela," her eyes belied a challenge as she spoke, assuming the Gryffindor would shy away once more, her courage abandoning her when it was needed._

"That was the start of our friendship, you could say, but I suppose you want the juicy parts rather than the boring bits. I'm not sure I could even explain myself how it began, or rather when it began. Which time, might be a better answer." Her eyes finally met his, daring him to ask what that was supposed to mean.

Instead, he asked a different question, "How many times were there?"

"Two, maybe three, if you count the last time, I'm not sure I would, but there were definitely two. I wouldn't have let her go then if I'd known."

"If you'd known what? That she would marry Bill?" His voice was laced once again with confusion, though it probably hadn't ever left, just lessened slightly, but he was determined to keep her talking and if this was the line his questioning went down, then so be it. He was sure he'd end up learning some things he'd never wanted to know from this talk. He'd already learned that Hermione was into women, and that was a shock to him, she'd never even hinted at it before tonight.

She shook her head before picking up the bottle and taking another drink, "No, that was just an unfortunate side effect," she made a sweeping motion with her hand as though she was wiping him away, shooing him off like an annoying fly.

He chose not to press that issue, he'd probably find the answer out anyways later, but he figured it wouldn't make much sense right now, he still wasn't aware that they'd ever been in a relationship and _that_ issue took precedence to him currently.

"Right, okay, let's start with the first time, what happened there?"

Hermione took a gulp of firewhiskey, noting that the bottle was nearing the bottom, it had been almost full earlier, she'd held the alcohol in her mouth for a moment, her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk as she savored the burn there before forcing it down, "Ahhh, well, we went to the ball together, as friends, but Ron, he was a nightmare, assuming we were something more, looking for anything to support his theory- which was outrageous, mind you- but when he began pointing out all the looks and touches and the words, well, I'd assumed she was just being friendly, that it was a French thing," she gave another wave as she spoke, leaning forwards into the table instead of slouched over like she had been, "so, what choice did I have but to talk to her about it one day."

_The Gryffindor had taken to meeting with the Beauxbaton in their hidden room, the secret one that would only appear sometimes. They'd both figured out how to make it happen, and had wanted to avoid the rest of the school, to avoid Krum and his groupies, or the mindless masses of boys that would trail after the other woman. Hermione enjoyed being able to study companionably with another student, someone as dedicated as she was who would not try to distract her or beg her to do their homework._

_It was their time, they could relax without worry, just be themselves and she had never known just how freeing the experience could be. But she'd recently begun to pay attention to the actions of the older witch. She was friendly with her classmates, her fellow students, but never near as friendly as she had taken to being with Hermione. At least, since the ball, since the fight with Ron._

_She'd found her sitting closer, scooting her chair over, trying to glance over her shoulder at the book she was reading, light touches here and there and always, always saying goodbye with a kiss to her cheeks. It was a French thing, definitely, but, it was unique to her and Fleur, as while the blonde performed the action with her friends, she'd always kept a distance, always made sure to never actually kiss their cheeks, but there was most certainly skin-to-skin contact when it was with her._

_And finally, she'd had enough, and just asked the girl outright. "Are you flirting with me?" The words escaped her without much thought, without preamble, and most importantly, with enough volume to make up for (betray) her nervousness._

_Fleur, always calm and collected, too put together to be anything less than a goddess, simply placed her quill back in its inkwell and linked her fingers together across the parchment she had been working on. Her eyes held a playful glint as she pursed her lips, leaning into the table and asked in an overtly flirtatious manner, "And what if I am?" A single eyebrow cocked, daring her to answer her nonanswer to an all-too-important question._

_Hermione flushed and looked away, her eyes searching for anything to focus on in the largely empty room, anything but the beauty before her. Her hands fidgeted in her lap as she licked her lips and tried to think of an answer, that simple question having reduced her to mush. "I uh," her voice left her and she shook her head._

_The blonde took pity on her discomfort and asked a different question, "Would it bozer you if I said yes?"_

_Hermione's neck snapped as she turned towards the other woman too quickly, her eyes seeking out the truth of what she said and seeing no signs of deception, shook her head no._

_"Zen, yes, I am," Fleur answered confidently before returning to her schoolwork as though the moment that had just passed hadn't been out of the ordinary for them, had required no more than a moment of her time, held no real significance between them._

_Hermione, however, was frozen to her spot, unable to look away or to return to her work, having received the answer she hadn't dared hope for, the truth that she hadn't expected. Internally she was screaming, shaking in excitement, filled with a joy she hadn't known she was capable of._

_It took a minute but she, too, was eventually able to pick up her quill and return to her homework. She did, after all, have a lengthy essay to write for Transfiguration and not even this would cause her to fail a paper._


End file.
